


Wish You Were Here

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Headcanon, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 70,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Warrior of Light attempts to come to terms with life after Carteneau in her own dysfunctional fashion





	1. So You Think You Can Tell Heaven from Hell?

**Author's Note:**

> Having recently finished the MSQ for Shadowbringers, I wanted to write how my OC got to that point and how she has developed in my head since she rode to Carteneau with her friends at the end of the original game. So this is very much focused on Elai, her interactions with NPCs and some other OCs, and how they see her. There will be multiple POVs as this grows, and multiple tags added as I write more chapters. Warning about spoilers here and not just ARR spoilers. Also alcohol abuse, depression, grief and some sexual content.
> 
> This is a work in progress and chapters may be edited as the whole thing grows.
> 
> Please read, please comment! I hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams and a crush on Thancred Waters

It was busy in the Quicksand that night.

There was a tourney in the Coliseum in the afternoon. Elai didn’t know who was fighting but, whoever they were, they had fetched in folks from malms around the city. At tea-time it was nigh impossible to get a table; by supper-time the bodies were packed as tight as fish in a barrel. The girls who waited on table had opened all the doors, and people spilled out onto the steps, clutching tankards and talking loudly. Momodi had men patrolling the crowds; on a night like this - a night after a prize fight, when fortunes might have been made and then just as quickly lost - tempers easily grew frayed.

No one was going to pick a fight with Elai Khatahdin though. Small and dainty as she was, she was also an Auri warrior, and the scowl she gave folk who so much as looked at her was fierce enough to keep anyone at bay. She wore an array of weapons - daggers sheathed on her thighs, a longbow on her back, a mage’s wand in her belt along with a hand axe - and scuffed leather armour that had seen better days. Her long piebald hair was scooped up in a ramshackle bun and looked like it needed washing; there was dirt on her face and hands, possibly some blood too since she’d come straight to the tavern; and she was fairly sure she smelled rank and sweaty. She went and stood by a table of Ul’dahn matrons and - sure enough - after glaring at her for ten minutes or so and sniffing crossly, they got up and left. Elai sat down, grinning, and spread herself out comfortably on the couch.

“Nicely done,” Momodi said with a sniff. “You best be ordering plenty of my best ale to make up for scaring off my customers.”

Elai shrugged. “Since when was plenty of ale unlikely? Don’t the brutes who guard your doors generally have to lug me upstairs at night?”

“You drink too much,” Momodi told her. “And you need a bath. Someone might mistake you for a wastrel if they didn’t know better.”

“Not a problem.”

“The Brass Blades’ll run you out of town, then where will you be?”

Elai grinned. “On my way to Gridania?”

“Bah, you know what I mean.” Momodi shook her head. “You’re a good girl, Elai, even if you like to pretend you’re not. Plenty of folks here think so, you’ve helped more than a few of them since you arrived.”

Elai scrunched herself up a little smaller on the couch. “I do it for the coin, Momodi. Nothing else.”

“The coin you drink several times over on a night?”

“Aye. That coin.”

“And did Papashan pay you not a few bells ago when you rescued Lady Lilira?”

Elai scowled. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

“Master Thancred wasn’t gossiping. He came here looking for you, wanted to make sure you’d been properly rewarded. Said the two of you took down a voidsent, but then you skipped off before either him or the lady could give you their thanks.”

Elai curled herself up even smaller. If Thancred Waters was looking for her, she needed to disappear. Not that he’d recognise her. No one would. Momodi made that very plain when she told Elai about the heroes lost at Carteneau. Elladie Byrne was dead and gone, and Elai Khatahdin had taken her place. It was a better name anyways; she’d never liked ‘Elladie’. Too Hyuran. She’d chosen something that sounded more Auri when she got to rename herself.

“I hope you didn’t tell him anything,” she said to Momodi. “You know I don’t like being pestered.”

“Well I gave him your name …”

“Nophica’s tits, Momodi, why in the Seven Hells did you do that?”

“I wasn’t aware it was a secret. Don’t get uppity with me, missy.”

“Ah, fuck it.”

“Why are you so hot under the collar anyway?” Momodi narrowed her eyes. “You’ve met Thancred before?”

“If I did - and I’m not saying it’s true - he won’t remember me.”

Momodi peered over the table. “Well, you’re not really his type, I suppose.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“He likes them cute and girly. You’d be pretty enough if you took a bath and had someone sort out your hair, but not even your own mother would call you girly.”

“I never met my mother,” Elai said. 

She said it to deflect Momodi, but it was true just the same. Not that it had ever bothered her; she was raised and educated by the Onishushu in Onkoro after they found a starving Auri brat on the road from the steppe. They taught her ninjitsu and geomancy and how to poison a man without leaving a trace, and she expected to spend her life in their service. But that was before her Echo showed itself, and she was exiled to Eorzea.

She gritted her teeth and felt bad for taking her anger and hurt out on the Lalafell. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Momodi looked crestfallen. “No. I spoke out of turn first. I didn’t know about your Ma, love.”

“Why would you?” Elai said. “It’s fine. Like I said, I never met her. I’ve got enough to cry about without crying over things I never had in the first place.”

Momodi patted one of her dirty, blood-stained hands. “I’ll get you a flagon of ale, love. On the house. And food too, I don’t reckon you had breakfast or lunch. What do you fancy? There’s some fine marmot steak tonight. Or braised pipira?”

Elai managed a smile. “Whatever you recommend.”

Truth be told, Momodi nagged her as much as any real mother. But she was fond of the lalafell innkeeper. If not for Momodi, only the Twelve knew what would have become of Elai after Carteneau. Louisoix’s spell threw her violently into her own future and wiped her from the memory of everyone who survived. It had been difficult - no, it had been almost impossible - to pick herself up and carry on. But Momodi had nagged her and bullied her and hugged her when she sobbed drunkenly into her supper. Momodi loaned her gil because Elai had none when she staggered back into Ul’dah; added her name to the roster of adventurers who worked for the guild; made sure men like Papashan knew who Elai was and that she could be relied on. And Elai had no more notion now than three moons ago as to why the lalafell helped her. She asked, and Momodi just shrugged and muttered something about trusting her instincts.

“Any chance I can eat upstairs?” Elai said, deciding to push her luck.

Momodi folded her arms. “No food or drink in the rooms.”

“Oh, come on. You know no one takes any notice of that rule.”

“Aye,” the lalafell said, tapping her foot. “Why else are there rats the size of dragons scuttling round my inn? Lord Lolorito owns the Quicksand and the Hourglass, you know. If he hears about the rats, I’ll be out on my ear, and where will you all be then, I’d like to know? And why d’you want to eat upstairs anyway? Drinking by yourself is never fun.”

“I don’t drink for fun,” Elai said. She tried - and failed - to muster a smile.

Momodi snorted. “You think I don’t know that? You drink so you don’t remember your nightmares.”

“You've been spying on me again?”

“Not hardly. Did you forget how many nights your shouts woke the whole place when you first got here?”

Elai bit her lip. It was mortifying that others knew how weak and useless she was. But truly the dreams that plagued her were horrible. At least when she had a drink, she didn’t wake alone in the dark, weeping with grief and fear. A mouth that tasted like a colibri’s arse and a headache that made her puke were much more tolerable than grief and fear. And it was easier to push away memories of her nightmares when she had to contend with not vomiting all over herself.

There was fire in the dark abyss of the dreams, and voices screaming. Great beasts - monstrous and deformed, like the crazy imaginings of a fevered necromance - dragged the screamers away and devoured them. Mechanical constructs belched ash and smoke; the air made Elai cough and retch, and tears ran down her face. She didn’t know if she wept from fear, or grief, or merely the physical effects of the smoke. She didn’t know what was happening. In the dreams she never understood. It felt like the end of the world. She was looking for something, but she didn’t know what; just that it was terrifying not to be able to find it.

Sometimes she would wake - or think she woke - only to find herself falling endlessly through the darkness. If she struggled, the sensation of falling grew worse, until her arms and legs flailed. If she didn’t fight but surrendered, the fall lessened until it became a floating descent onto a surface she couldn’t see. Her feet touched down onto the invisible platform with a light grace that belied how far she’d tumbled. No matter how many times she dreamed it, she’d still look around confused, and then she’d spy a mote of light in the distant shadows and start to walk towards it. There was a voice, low and sonorous, but it never said anything helpful.

“Hear.”

Yeah, she was listening. Waiting for someone to say something useful.

“Feel.”

Well, she’d felt too much already. She was tired of feeling.

“Hear, feel.”

Oh, by the Twelve, get a _new_ script to read, Lady.

Sometimes Elai would wake up at that point and feel glad - or gladder than otherwise, at any rate - that she missed what invariably came next. Because if she didn’t wake up, a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing a mask. And she’d stand and look at it, and it looked back, and then …and then …she fucking attacked it … As if she hadn’t listened to a single lesson Master Ayahe taught her. Choose your battles carefully, child. And don’t pick ones you can’t win.

She saw the rush of magic the hooded creature summoned; no way was she countering that. She’d studied a bit of geomancy - conjury, they called it, here in Eorzea - but she was a rank beginner compared to the masked one. So what the fuck was she thinking? It was bloody lucky she always woke up before the storm of shadow slammed into her. Dream or not, she didn’t want to hang around to find out how that felt.

Elai sat up with a start, just as she always did, heart hammering, gasping for breath. At the same time the little man inside her skull started work with his pickaxe, trying to escape, and she leaned over to puke into the chamber pot by the bed, left there for exactly that purpose. She groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, covering her eyes with the crook of her arm.

It was barely light. But - hey - she’d made it to another day. That was always a bonus, given her current indifference to survival. Her bodily functions were mostly still working, and she reckoned she still had some cognitive function. Enough to know that Momodi really _was_ right when she scolded Elai for drinking too much. And that - if she didn’t want to run into Thancred Waters again - she really ought to skip town today. It was a miracle she hadn’t run into him before the incident with the Sultana and the voidsent; Ul’dah was his patch, and she’d known he was still around. She’d even seen him - once or twice - although she made herself scarce as soon as she recognised that silver-gilt hair.

\------------

Elai met Thancred for the first time in Limsa Lominsa. At the Rogues’ guild, unsurprisingly. He’d been visiting old friends, or so he said; she had been the guild’s newest member. He’d flirted with her. She’d flirted back, intrigued by the way the others talked him up, wondering if he could possibly be as good as they reckoned. They sparred a little, and he _was_ good. Just not as good as she was, although he disagreed with that assessment. He upped the flirting, she wasn’t sure why; maybe she’d gone from idle entertainment to possible conquest by beating him in best of three. Or maybe he was just being Thancred. It didn’t take long to hear about his reputation with the ladies. And though Elai fancied him from the start, she wasn’t interested in becoming yet another of his conquests.

But then one night - after weeks of sneakery and spying and a heartstopping infiltration of the fort at Castrum Novum – Elai decided to call his bluff. They’d been drinking - a kind of celebration, she supposed, since they'd finally managed to identify the new Garlean legatus, one Nael van Darnus - and there was a wild edge to both of them. Thancred drained the last of his Lominsan brandy and set the glass back down on the table with an unnecessary carefulness that betrayed how drunk he was.

“So,” he said. “How about we buy another bottle, beautiful Elladie, and adjourn to my room?”

Elai looked at him – she hadn’t drunk anywhere near as much, one glass to his two, but she was still drunk enough to think the challenge worth accepting – and shrugged. “Sure.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sure?”

She laughed. “Did the brandy affect your hearing? Strange. Usually the speech goes first, then the eyesight, followed by …”

“Hush. If I wanted a lecture on the physical effects of alcohol, I’d be dining with a chirurgeon. Let’s back up a little. To the part where you said ‘sure’. Did I hear you aright?”

He looked so confused that Elai laughed again. “You did. Shall I buy the brandy since you bought the first one?”

“Wait, wait. Brandy, yes, absolutely. My room, no?"

“We can go to your room if you want.”

“We can?"

Elai grinned. “It’s actually a really good idea. I doubt either of us will be able to walk after another bottle.”

He stood up quickly, and he was more steady on his feet than she expected. “I’ll walk with you to the bar.”

“Scared I’ll change my mind?”

“Just making sure you don’t have an accident. Slip on the stairs, drop the bottle.”

“Ah, so you’re more concerned about the brandy?”

He looked at her. “I wouldn’t say that at all, milady.”

She arched her eyebrows, although the tone of his voice and the need in his gaze made heat start to coil low in her body. He was very pretty, and she was very curious. She wondered if his skill in the bedroom matched his skill as a sneak thief. He certainly was adept with his fingers.

“Well,” she said, watching him as she spoke. “We could always forego the brandy.”

“We could?”

“You don’t think so?”

“I do think so. Absolutely. I …” He gave her a wry smile. “I just want to make sure that I’m not misunderstanding the situation.”

She moved closer to him and stood on her tiptoes so that her breath ghosted warm against the curve of his neck when she spoke. “You’re not misunderstanding the situation, Thancred.”

He took her hand in his and led her towards the stairs. His fingers around hers were warm, and he squeezed her hand and turned back to smile at her as she followed him. At that moment, she would have followed him anywhere. Desire had taken over. She wanted to feel his fingers on her skin, to touch him and taste him, to have his eyes slide over her as she arched and moaned on his bed. She could picture them moving together, their bodies slick with perspiration, and she dug her nails into the palm of his hand.

His breathing quickened.

“Lady,” he said. “Do that again, and we’ll not make it to my room.”

His words made the heat pool low in her body again. She scraped her nails against his palm instead of digging them in, and he growled. He tugged her ever more speedily up the stairs. Once through the door to his room, with it firmly shut behind them, they stopped and stared at each other. Elai stepped forward slowly, fascinated by the way the moonlight through the window gilded his pale hair and turned his eyes into pools of shadow. At that moment he was very beautiful to her, and she wanted him. She stood close to him, their bodies touching, and she rose up on her toes again until she could feel his breath on her face.

“Elladie …” he whispered.

“Hush.”

She kissed him. His mouth felt soft and warm. It opened, and his hands closed on her shoulders as the kiss became deeper and fiercer. She could feel his arousal hard against her belly.

“I want you,” he said, into her mouth.

Elai broke the kiss. “I want you too.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“I fear I’m over-ripe in my eagerness, lady."

"Not a problem. Long as you last long enough to unlace your breeches, we're good."

His hand closed on her hips, thumbs caressing the skin just above the bone. "Elladie Byrne ..."

His touch made her want to bite him. Hard. Leave marks that Minfilia would see. "Thancred Waters ...Don't pretend to be shocked. My ability to seduce my mark is part of what I do. Gathering secrets is easy over a bit of pillow talk."

"So I'm a bit of pillow talk now?"

"No. You're the tantalising prospect of an intriguing fuck. So are we going to do it, or are we going to fight about which of us is the biggest trollop?

His eyes danced. "Do it. We can fight about it afterwards."

Elai leaned forward and up, taking his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking on it, applying teeth. He backed her towards the bed; she felt the line of the mattress against the backs of her knees and tumbled obligingly onto it, pulling him with her. He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned down at her, his eyes still dancing with heat and humour.

“You talk too much,” she said, wrapping her fingers around fistfulls of hair and _pulling_ ...

\------------

It had hurt, fighting side by side with Thancred against the voidsent, trying to protect the Sultana. Knowing that he had no idea who she was. Knowing that he didn’t even recall her name whereas she could remember how his face looked when he came inside her. As they stood together she’d grinned at him, unable to help herself, and he’d grinned back as if somehow, someway, he knew. But he didn’t know. And it hurt.

Elai levered herself upright, planning to sort through her stuff and tell Momodi she was leaving, and was promptly sick again. The vile pool in the chamber pot was nigh on overflowing.

“Yeah,” she muttered, falling back against the pillows. “Yeah, I need to stop drinking so much. And I need to get out of Ul’dah. After I get rid of my hangover. And empty the pot. Tomorrow.”

Trouble was, she didn’t really want to leave; she had nothing left of her old life except the bits and pieces in her pack, and so she didn’t want to lose Momodi, not right now, not yet.

It didn’t take much to persuade her that Camp Blackbrush was far enough, that she could rent a room at the Coffer and Coffin and still visit the city once in a while. Even when she realised the merchant she was employed to guard had somehow managed to get on the wrong side of the Syndicate - at which point any sensible person who wanted to keep a low profile would have made her excuses and backed away - even then she hung around to see what would happen.

A golem had happened. Summoned out of a pile of rock and rubble lying in the entrance to the Sil’dih ruins. There had been a bit of chanting - wasn’t there always chanting? - in a language she wished she hadn’t understood but did, because that was one of the many - and slightly less annoying - aspects of her Echo, and then the stones began to fly through the air towards each other as if they’d suddenly discovered some hitherto undiscovered law of gravity. They formed themselves into a golem at least twice her size which bent its burning orange eyes on her and quickly made up its mind she needed to die.

Naturally Thancred - with his usual exquisite timing - showed up just as Elai got the upper hand in the fight.

"Thal’s balls,” he complained as he jogged up, almost exactly as the golem collapsed into a heap of rubble. “Did I miss all the fun?” He sheathed his daggers and looked down at her, kneeling amidst a pile of broken rocks. “I can see you didn’t require my assistance this time.”

Elai exhaled, blowing golem dust out of her nose and mouth and tried to remember why she was still in Ul’dah. She scowled at Thancred and put away her cesti - abandoning knives in favour of fists seemed sensible when fighting a small mountain - and he grinned.

“It seems trouble likes to follow you around, my friend,” he said.

She shrugged, ignoring all her turbulent emotions, aping a nonchalance she really didn’t feel. “Or it follows you and I get caught in the crossfire. Are you tailing me for a reason? Or are you just bored?”

“You wound me deeply.” He put a theatrical hand on his heart. “As for tailing you, no such thing. When I felt an upheaval in the aether in this direction, I came as quickly as I could.”

They both looked down at the golem remains. Thancred poked them with his foot. With the sun shining on his bright white hair and his brown eyes thoughtful, he looked no older than he had when he bade her farewell before Carteneau.

“I … don’t know,” she said. Mysterious voices out of nowhere chanting nonsense that only her Echo understood… well … that made her sound like a crazy person even to herself. “I … ah … I guess the Brass Blades had it. In … ah … storage? Under there.” She pointed at the looming cave entrance that led into the ruined remains of Sil’dih.

Thancred raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“No. But I wasn’t here. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“I don’t know.” It was true, she didn’t; the Brass Blades had clearly been working on the orders of Lord Lolorito, but they’d seemed as surprised by the golem as she was, and they’d taken to their heels as soon as it appeared. “I was just helping out, I wasn’t expecting the Brass Blades to turn on us.” She waved at poor Wystan, the merchant. “They gave him a good beating before I got here. Shouldn’t we take him to a healer?”

Wystan groaned as if he agreed with her, and Thancred frowned.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “But tread carefully, my friend. This is the second time you’ve been caught up in trouble in naught but a moon, and I’m concerned about the wheretofor of all of it. What happened here was clearly sanctioned by one or more members of the Syndicate …” She noticed that he didn’t mention Lolorito by name and wondered if that was ignorance or caution. She was starting to feel torn between giving him the information he needed to solve the puzzle or keeping her head down and her hands clean. “The Sultana’s enemies grow bolder every day, and it worries me that they seem to have outside assistance. Voidsent and golems. Believe me, even for Ul’dah that’s unusual.”

“I believe you,” she said fervently, helping Wystan to his feet. Some of the others employed by Wystan were starting to creep out from behind the rocks and in the tunnels where they’d hidden. “And I’m not wishful of becoming embroiled in any quarrel with the Syndicate. It’s probably time I took myself out of Ul’dah for a while.”

“Speak with Momodi,” Thancred told her. “She’ll know if anyone else has heard of your involvement. I have business elsewhere otherwise I’d escort you back to the city myself.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Elai said quickly. She didn’t want to spend any more time in his company than was necessary. “It’s probably for the best if no one sees me speak with you; even if my name isn’t known, I feel sure yours is.”

He nodded. “True. Take care then.”

She watched him walk away towards the slope that curved up out of the ruins. There was an ache inside her at his departure as if - with this farewell - she finally saw that Elladie Byrne was gone forever, that she had died at Carteneau as surely as those whose bones mouldered in the earth. She put a hand to her throat, unconsciously trying to ease the constriction that had settled there. Then she turned and offered Wystan and wavering smile.

“Let’s get you back to the Coffer and Coffin,” she said.

\------------

Thancred opened the door to the Waking Sands very slowly and peered inside.

Tataru was at her desk in the outer office - which was annoying - but she was busy with some paperwork, and she was humming to herself as she scribbled away. With care - and some good luck - he should be able to sneak by her. He pulled the door closed again quietly and took off his boots before he crept inside in bare feet. It reminded him of being a boy in Limsa, edging across the jetties to thieve a fish for supper.

He picked his way across the floor, knowing by rote which parts to avoid because they creaked. A sad testament, he thought, to how many times he snuck in and out of the Waking Sands for some reason or another. He was halfway down the stairs to the inner door when he realised Tataru’s humming had stopped, and he stood very still and held his breath.

“I know you’re there, Thancred,” the lalafell scolded. “I’m not deaf. Or blind.”

He winced and climbed back up the stairs to apologise.

“It’s not me you should apologise to,” Tataru said. “You know it upsets Minfilia when you avoid her like this.”

“I’m not avoiding her,” Thancred protested. “Not as such. I don’t have much time - trouble’s about to bubble over in Ul’dah, and I ought to be there when it does - but I needed to talk to Urianger.”

“So you can spare five minutes to pop your head round the solar door then …”

“Tataru…” he sighed.

She folded her arms and looked down her nose at him. It was a profoundly impressive skill, especially since he was a few fulms taller than she was.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. I’ll talk to Urianger, and then I’ll go and see Minfilia.”

Tataru smiled. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I don’t have time for tea …”

“I’ll bring drinks into the solar in fifteen minutes.”

He rolled his eyes and sat down on Tataru’s stool to put his boots back on. It was pointless arguing with the lalafell secretary; she was an irresistible force. He was half-convinced that if they unleashed her on the Garleans, the Empire’s legions would beat a hasty retreat. He looked a little longingly at the door back outside. If he was quick, he could escape. It would mean he didn’t get to talk to Urianger, but he’d avoid Minfilia that way. He loved Minfilia devotedly, but he felt horribly guilty every time he saw her; guilty about never being around, guilty about neglecting her, guilty about feeling guilty. It fed on itself, his guilt. Consciously he knew he was never going to be able to assuage it - he’d started off by killing her father… well… more not managing to save him... but still - yet everything he did seemed to make it worse. He hated himself right now because he wanted to run away instead of sitting down and taking tea with her.

“You can do this,” he muttered to himself. If only Louisoix hadn’t died at Carteneau; if only everyone hadn’t and left him in charge. “They depend on you, you can’t let them down.”

He pinned what he hoped was a jaunty smile on his face - people expected him to be smiling because he always smiled - and made his way towards Urianger’s study. It wasn’t really a study - more of a cupboard - but the Elezen mage had insisted he needed somewhere that wasn’t filled with chatterers; they had managed to cram in a desk, angled just so, and Minfilia had built shelves to fit in the remaining space for all of Urianger’s books and scrolls. There wasn’t much room left, even for Urianger. Two people in there meant a level of intimacy Thancred wasn’t sure he was prepared for. He left the door open and leaned against the wooden frame, else he would have been obliged to sit in Urianger’s lap.

“Thou lookest at me amiss,” Urianger observed, and Thancred grinned.

“Just thinking about sitting on your knee,” he said.

The mage looked worried. “An unnecessary manoeuvre methinks.”

“But worth it just to see the look on your face.”

“Didst thou travel all this way merely to persecute me?”

“Sadly, no. A long shot - since you never leave your cupboard - but have you run into an Auri adventurer called Elai recently? Elai Cart … something. Khatahdin, that’s it.”

“As thou sayest, I rarely leave my study.”

“That’s a ‘no’ then?”

Urianger inclined his head. “Indeed. Perchance there is some purpose behind thy question?”

It was always hard to tell what Urianger was thinking. Partly because he always spoke in such impenetrable language - and Thancred was sure he did it on purpose, entirely to be impenetrable - and partly because of the way he dressed. He wore robes and sandals with a cowl over his head and metal goggles over his eyes. Every aspect of his appearance apart from his sideburns was hidden. The goggles were part of the apparatus that helped the mage in his aetherical studies, but Thancred was positive Urianger really didn’t need to wear them all the time. Underneath the cowl and goggles, he was an attractive Elezen male.

“Perchance there is,” Thancred agreed, watching his friend very carefully for the least flicker of expression. “I met her for the first time a few weeks ago and …”

“I trust that thou has not travelled all these malms to regale me with the details of thy latest infatuation?”

“That hurts, Urianger.”

“I believe it was needful.”

Thancred grinned. “She’s certainly not ugly, though she could do with a bath. But that’s not why I wanted to discuss her. She’s … confusing. Intriguing. She doesn’t make sense.”

“Her speech is perhaps foreign to thine ears?”

“I don’t mean she talks nonsense,” he replied, laughing. “She doesn’t say much at all. But she shows up when there’s trouble. As you know, I’m concerned about the situation in Ul’dah; I’m pretty sure our ‘masked friends’ are behind the recent spate of incidents. Nanamo snuck out to take a walk, as is her wont, without any attendants, and she was attacked by a voidsent. If Elai hadn’t come running, I would have been hard pushed to deal with the creature. Then this morning there was trouble with a golem.”

Despite the cowl and goggles, Thancred was certain he saw the tiniest frown mar Urianger’s forehead. “A golem. Art thou certain?”

“I didn’t see it myself,” he admitted. “And I don’t know where it came from. But I felt a massive aetherical surge and, when I rushed to investigate, I found Elai kneeling amidst a pile of rocky debris. The merchant who was employing her - and the rest of his men - also attest to the presence of the golem. It seems Elai slew the construct single-handedly.”

Urianger was definitely frowning. “A powerful warrior then.”

“Absolutely. More powerful and skilled than her age warrants. She is five and twenty summers at the most, but she does battle like a grizzled veteran. She’s mastered both dagger-work and fists, and Momodi says she’s a gifted healer too. Momodi is full of praise for the girl.” Thancred didn’t add that Momodi said Elai drank too much and suffered from terrible nightmares, although he wasn’t entirely sure why he kept that to himself. Except that he had liked the girl from the little he had seen of her.

“An Echo user then perhaps?” Urianger said. “Twould somewhat explain her relative youth compared to her skills. Tis often seen that those with the Echo are blessed with myriad talents besides.”

“Yeah,” Thancred nodded. “I mean, if you just said what I think you said, then yeah.”

“Spare me,” Urianger retorted. “Thou art blessed with as much intelligence as any other here, much as thou triest to conceal it. As for thy Auri friend, perchance thou shouldst bring her to meet Minfilia?”

“Yeah.”

“Dost thou trust her?”

Thancred shrugged. “Momodi certainly does. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met her somewhere before, and it troubles me. I think I’d rather wait and watch a while longer. See what scuttles out of the woodwork. Cheers, Urianger, you’ve been a big help.”

The mage nodded. “I confess I am uncertain in what measure I have assisted thee, but thou art welcome.”

Thancred grinned and walked away, closing the cupboard - study - door behind him. He strolled down the corridor, whistling, and wondering if he could pretend that he forgot about taking tea with Minfilia.  
\------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrites are taking place; some are substantial and some not. New chapters will probably ...nay, will definitely appear.  
Some chapters are named after lines from 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd which was - in a roundabout way - the inspiration for this. I listened to it A LOT while playing Shadowbringers. Other chapters are named after FATEs in the game.  
Thanks for reading; if you enjoy, please leave kudos and comments. Thanks also to all the lovelies on the Wholesomely Debauched discord, for being there and for making me laugh <3


	2. Interlude - Survivor Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elai's first few days in Eorzea

The yellow-coated guards who patrolled Limsa didn’t take kindly to scruffy Auri brats curling up to sleep on the streets.

Elai had to scramble fast to avoid them, losing her pack and her bedroll in the process. She ran, turning down random passageways, scrambling over gates, until she judged her pursuers lost. But then she found herself wandering in a warren of alleys and ginnels that all seemed to twist back on each other. Overhanging storeys and roofs made it hard to see the sky, the only means she had to orient herself. She was looking for the means to climb up onto one of the roofs when she was jumped by four burly ruffians armed with clubs.

Elai sighed and shook her head. The journey from Hingashi had gone very well – almost too well perhaps – up to that point but, as Master Ayahe warned her, the kami were ever capricious. It was the way of the world, that matters would go ill without any advance warning. Her life over the past three months - since her seventeenth birthday - had proved that to her.

Elai paid little heed to notions such as pride and honour. She’d sworn an oath to uphold the code of the Onishishu when she was but a child, and she’d believed and trusted in it utterly, but when she began to suffer strange visions and dreams the Onishishu had turned their faces from her. They didn’t trust anything that smacked of Allagan machinations, and so they cast her out. Pride and honour had meant nothing then. Oh, they gave her money and instruction - they didn’t cast her aside with no hope - and sent her to Eorzea. But she was no longer interested in oaths or allegiances; she learned early not to trust them.

And neither pride nor honour would protect her against these ruffians; practicality and common sense were much more useful. She wouldn’t have hesitated to run away again if fleeing had been an option, but the men had taken her by surprise, and she was cornered at the end of an alley. She would have handed over her purse rather than risk a fight, purses were much more easily replaced than broken bones. But they’d realised by then she was female and had lost interest in her purse. They spread out in a circle around her, advancing slowly and laughing. One of them was already loosening the ties of his breeches as he reached for her.

Elai’s bow had disappeared along with her pack when she scrambled to escape the Yellow Jackets. But the men were too close for a bow to be useful and, besides, she was most skilled with her daggers. She’d lost her poisons too, with her pack, but they’d die just as satisfactorily from a slit throat as a dose of sea-bane. Her tormentors paused when she pulled two knives from the hidden sheaths in her boots and dropped into a crouch.

“Now then, lass,” the first one said. “No need for that. We’re just looking for a little fun is all.”

Elai hissed at him, and he took a step backwards. Emboldened, she followed, shouting an insult in Xaela - more or less the only Xaelan words she knew - a long ululation that seemed to rise up out of the alley and ripple in all directions. It hovered in the air for a moment or two, and she had the strangest impression that everything in the city stopped and turned in her direction, just for that brief moment.

She blinked and shook her head, tightening her grasp on her knives.

\------------

Brin Greenwood was sitting with Wawalago on a jetty, talking about the best bait for Lominsan anchovy – Brin wasn’t much of a fisherman, not yet, but while he was in Limsa he planned to improve – when the most uncanny howl rose up on the night air and hovered around them like a ghostly echo.

“Llymlaen’s Grace,” Wawalago muttered, making the sign against ill-luck. “What in the Seven Hells was that?”

Brin surged to his feet and set off running in the direction of the noise. It still seemed to quiver in the air, drawing him towards it; as he ran, he pulled a knife from his belt. It wasn’t really a weapon, being meant for gutting fish, but Thancred had taught him enough tricks with a dagger that the knife would serve his purpose.

He rounded the corner of a narrow alley and saw several burly men a few feet away. Five … no, four of them, all armed with clubs. He couldn’t quite make out what they faced; some kind of horned creature, smaller, and wiry too, crouched down and ready to spring. He checked his run and slid sideways, into the darkness at the edge of the alley. If he could stay hidden, he could creep up on the demon – or whatever it was – and sink his blade between its ribs before it even knew he was there.

“What the swivin’ hell was that?” one of the men said, lifting up his club.

“It’s a void-sent,” another said. “That’s what it is. Look at them ‘orns and that tail. I ain’t putting my dick anywhere near that, Olaf.”

Brin froze in the shadows and listened hard.

“Scared it’ll get cursed and drop off?” the one called Olaf jeered. “She ain’t no demon. She’s one of them dragon-folk from over the sea, came in on that schooner from ‘Ingashi a few days ago. I been keepin my eyes on her. Erdwyss is after some exotic bits o’skirt for his latest customer. We’ll have our fun with her, and then we’ll truss her up and sell her to Erdwyss for a pocketful.”

Brin stepped back out into the alley. He wished he had his great axe, but it was more of an encumbrance than anything else when he was fishing, and he hadn't expected to need it. He hadn't expected to encounter anything more dangerous than an anchovy tonight. Ah well. Time to see how much he remembered of Thancred’s lessons.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “I believe the lady isn’t eager to welcome your … advances.” As they whirled to face him, he made a show of paring his nails with the knife in a nonchalant fashion. “Judging by the daggers she's brandishing, a wise man would take himself off.”

“Go bugger yerself,” Olaf said.

“Now that's not nice,” Brin protested. “Nor wise.” He leaned backwards as Olaf swung at him and whistled in no little admiration as the girl – he was fairly sure she was a girl, now, despite the horns - lashed out with both her daggers at the brute nearest to her. She aimed for the backs of his knees and hamstrung him very neatly. Even Thancred couldn't have done it better. The man screeched and tumbled backwards into the mud.

Olaf turned away from Brin again. “Why you l'il ...”

Not one to miss an opening, Brin rapped him on the side of the head with his knife hilt. The big man went down surprisingly quickly and quietly, and Brin stepped over him to tackle the next thug. The girl ducked backwards as the fourth man tried an uppercut to her chin, but the blow whiffled through empty air. He had a longer reach and more brute strength, but she was clearly faster and much more agile. She also seemed to have a great deal more control of her temper; after she’d eluded the thug a couple more times, he began to hit out wildly in rage, and she was able to slip under his guard and slide a dagger between his ribs without any trouble at all. Brin was half-tempted to applaud. But the Admiral had banned brawling in the streets, and the Yellow Jackets would see the bodies first and ask their questions a great deal later. If Thancred had to bust him out of a Lominsan gaol, the Sharlyan wouldn't be very happy.

Brin wiped his knife on his shirt and put it back in the sheath on his belt.

“Come on,” he said. “We better scarper. Smartish.”

She nodded and sheathed her own daggers. She had hidden pockets for them inside her boots. A nifty trick.

“Any good at climbing?” he asked. “The Yellow Jackets'll be here any second.”

“I can climb,” she replied. Her voice was soft, and her Common was smudged with an accent he didn't recognise. What had Olaf called her? Dragon-folk from Hingashi? Still, time to ponder on that later.

“Follow me,” he said, using the rope knotted around the nearest pillar – a not-unusual decoration in Limsa – as hand-holds and foot-holds to haul himself up. When he turned back to give her some help, he discovered she was already close behind. As she pulled herself onto the roof next to him, he was able to get a better look at her.

She was as small and skinny as he’d thought; not much more than a kid really. Of course neither was he, although that wasn't the kind of thing he admitted aloud to anyone. Her colouring was unusual; pale skin and pale eyes, with rings around her pupils that seemed to glow silver in the moonlight. Her hair was pale too, like the mist that wreathed the harbour water sometimes. She wore it in long braids, with beads and gems and feathers woven in here and there. But the most startling were her dark, curved horns and the tracery of scales on her cheekbones. Dragon-folk indeed.

“You're staring,” she said. “It's rude.”

He felt himself blush.

“You're a bloodthirsty one,” he retaliated. “We could have tried to talk to them at least, don't you think?”

She shook her head. “They were already thinking with their cocks instead of their heads. They wouldn't have listened.” She ducked her head as four Yellow Jackets ran by the next alley and widened her eyes at him. He put one finger to his lips, and she nodded. They lay quietly on the roof, waiting for the night to fall silent again. And once more she impressed him with her abilities. Most folk fidgeted after a while, breathed too heavy, shifted their weight around. The dragon-girl … well … if he hadn't been looking at her, he would have supposed himself alone. He began to wonder if she was Echo-blessed, like himself; she’d certainly demonstrated an almost preternatural ability to evade many of the blows launched at her during the fight just passed.

Brin watched her surreptitiously. She lay quite still, watching the alleys below, apparently unconcerned about their rooftop perch or the Yellow Jackets searching beneath them. If she did have the Echo … well … the sooner he introduced her to one of the Archons the better. But if she chose to stick around, he knew he wouldn’t be sorry about it. She was altogether fascinating, and he hadn’t even learned her name yet, nor where she came from.

\------------

Y’shtola set down her cup on one of the tables close to the balustrade and pulled out a chair. It was early morning still, and the eatery was quiet; she had her pick of places to sit so she chose one where she could relax and watch the sunlight on the water while she drank her coffee. Early mornings in Limsa were the best part of the day, before the port opened and the bustle started, when the only noise was the murmur of the cooks in the kitchens, the rattle of the masts on the moored ships below, and the occasional gull swooping by in search of breakfast. She sighed with pleasure as she took a sip of the rich, strong, milky coffee and leaned back in her chair.

“’Shtola! Hello! I thought I’d find you here. Are you busy? Can we have a word?”

She blinked and turned her head. Brin Greenwood, of course. She would have guessed from the puppy-like enthusiasm in his voice, if nothing else. He greeted every day like a grand adventure, which wasn’t necessarily un-endearing, but she would have preferred him to wait until she’d had her morning coffee. Nor was he alone and … Menphina’s Grace! An Au Ra? A Xaelan Au Ra, if she wasn’t mistaken. What was an Auri woman of the grasslands doing so far away from home?

Y’shtola sat up and put her cup back on the table.

“Good morning, Brin,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, right. Yes. Sorry.” His words tumbled over themselves, all trying to escape his mouth at once. “This is Elladie. She’s from Hingashi.”

The Auri girl didn’t say anything. She reminded Y’shtola of a wary bird, sitting in the shadows while the gulls squawked and squabbled, waiting to see if it was safe before trying to snatch a morsel. Her wariness wasn’t surprising though; she was a long way from home.

Y’shtola smiled, stood up and held out her hand in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Elladie. We don’t get many visitors from the far east.”

The girl eyed Y’shtola’s hand with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, but then she reached out to touch it with her own. As they clasped hands, several things happened in quick succession.

Y’shtola felt a surge in aetheric energy so intense it felt painful. The Auri girl gasped, and her face twisted in a grimace. Her fingers slackened, and she slumped forwards, knocking the cup of coffee from the table. It tumbled to the wooden floor and smashed. Y’shtola caught the girl, stopping her from tumbling to the ground in similar fashion, and set her down in the empty chair.

“Shit,” Brin said. “Is she …?”

“She’s fine,” Y’shtola replied briskly. “Go and find someone to clear up this mess and bring us some more coffee.”

“But …”

“It was the Echo, Brin,” she muttered, not wanting to attract too much attention. “Or at least I think so. I can’t sense any sickness in her, and she’s not injured.” She glanced up at his worried face. “But I imagine you already suspected she had the Echo or else why did you bring her to me?”

He blushed and shrugged.

“More coffee,” she repeated gently, a smile tugging her mouth. “And if anyone asks, she's exhausted after her long journey and began to feel unwell.” He nodded, turned around, and headed inside.

Y’shtola sat down in another chair, next to Elai, and took a deep breath. She was almost certain that the Auri girl was experiencing the Echo's first fierce tumult. But that didn’t mean Y’shtola wasn’t concerned. It wasn't so much Elai's collapse that bothered her – swallowing down the first taste of the Echo was often difficult and frightening – but that the Auri girl was the fourth youngster in less than a year who'd shown signs of it. The Echo was thought to be very rare; in all of her years of study at the Studium, Y'shtola had encountered only one individual known to possess it. Its growing frequency now perturbed her. She and her fellow Archons had returned to Eorzea to assess the growing threat of the Garlean empire, but she was becoming more and more convinced that there were bigger threats than the Garleans just out of sight.

Elai stirred and muttered something, and Y'shtola refocused her attention on the girl.

“Welcome back,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Who …?”

“Oh, I'm Y'shtola. Y'shtola Rhul. Brin brought you to meet me, if you remember?”

The girl licked her lips and swallowed. She was a tiny little thing really. Y'shtola had thought the Au Ra big, hulking creatures; the few that she'd met – all full-grown males – certainly were. But perhaps Elai was still very young. Which rather begged the question of what she was doing all by herself in Limsa Lominsa?

“I ...” Elai said. “What … what did you do to me?”

“Menphina bless you!” Y'shtola replied, somewhat taken aback. “That wasn't me. That was … well ...” Any explanations she had relied heavily on her listener already knowing the Echo existed. “In Sharlyan – where I come from – we call it the Echo. Perhaps they have another name for it in Hingashi …?”

Elai sat up a little straighter and put her hand to her temples. Y'shtola saw that there was a pattern of deep purple scales down her lower arms as well as on her face.

“I hurt,” she said.

“It will pass in a little while.”

“This Echo … is that what it’s called? … this Echo is why my masters sent me away. They thought … well, it frightened them, I think. It frightens me too.” She touched her mouth where she’d bruised it while falling. “I’ve never felt it come so strongly before.”

Y’shtola winced. “Ahh, my fault, I’m afraid. My apologies. But you needn’t fear the Echo. Many of us have studied it and can help you understand it. Master Louisoix – one of _my_ teachers – would tell you that it has the power to transcend words, to transcend time and transcend space. And that's the least technical explanation I've ever heard him offer.”

Elai narrowed her eyes. “And what does that mean?”

Y'shtola smiled and switched to archaic Sharlyan, a language that had fallen out of use – except in a few erudite treatises – many hundreds of years before. “How long have you been able to speak in the tongue of my long-dead forefathers, Elladie?”

“I don't understand?” Elai said, in the same language. Her eyes widened. “How is that … I don't …?”

“Forgive me,” Y'shtola replied. “I didn't mean to tease, but that's the easiest way to demonstrate the simplest and most obvious aspect of the Echo. You can read, speak and understand any language, even long dead ones. The other parts we're only just beginning to understand, although I believe you've already experienced another of them. The power to see other people's memories, almost as if you're there yourself?”

“That … was someone's memory?” Elai asked. “Was it yours?”

“What did you see?”

“There was a ship. A big one, bigger than the Orchid, and it was pitching up and down in a stormy sea. There were people huddled in the hold, and they all looked frightened. It … frightened me too, a little, to see how scared they were. They thought they were going to die.” She frowned. “Then … then there was shouting up on deck, and I followed and … it was you! You were there! There were some kind of creatures attacking the ship, like floating jellyfish ...”

“Aureliae,” Y'shtola said slowly.

“You threw me a bow and told me to help. I started shooting arrows as fast as I could, but more and more kept coming. But you … you healed me and we carried on fighting. And then, suddenly, it was very quiet, as if everything had stopped to snatch a breath. Just like … one … two … three. And a huge serpent creature leapt from under the water and over the ship; it was so long, bigger even than the ship was, and it jumped so high, as if it could fly. It was … it was beautiful, truly. But then it dived back under the sea, and a great wave came like a wall of water, and I knew we were going to die.”

“Leviathan,” Y'shtola whispered. “You were remembering Leviathan.”

“It was more than remembering,” Elai insisted. “I was there; I wasn't just watching, I helped you fight against the jellyfish creatures. I shot arrows into them.”

There was still a great deal concerning the Echo that they were still unravelling. Many of the other Masters at the Studium belittled Louisoix's interest in it, dismissed it as an eccentricity. At best the phenomenon was a physiological curiosity; at worst, the delusion of an irreparably damaged psyche. But Louisoix was convinced it was demonstrably real; that its manifestation was no accident or coincidence; and that the abilities it bestowed were far more powerful than was currently acknowledged.  
Y'shtola frowned and tapped her chin thoughtfully with one finger. She stood up abruptly.

“I need to talk to Louisoix about this,” she said. “Stay in Limsa, please. I don't want to have to scour the countryside for you when I return.”

\------------

Elai let out a huff of breath as the silver-haired Miqo'te strode off, and she glowered at the back of the woman's head. Elai wasn't a child, to be lectured on what to do, or a pet dog to be told to stay, as though she had no mind of her own. If she hadn't been so tired after a night fleeing the yellow-coated guards, fighting off thugs and rapists, and then trailing Brin over the roof-tops and back alleys of Limsa, she would have leapt up and … well … perhaps it was unwise to rush heedlessly out into the countryside but …

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Master Ayahe would have clicked his tongue and told Elai she was sulking; her ward-mother would handed her a stack of uncured skins and advised her to do some work; her foster-sister Rael would have led her to sit on one of the ledges overlooking Kugane docks, and she would have un-braided Elai’s hair and threaded it with new beads and feathers and then braided it back up again.

Elai scowled at her own hands, lying loosely in her lap. A little homesickness was nothing to be surprised at, especially when she was tired. It was bound to take some time to get used to new people and new lands. She would _not_ remember that they had turned from her - master, ward-mother, foster-sister - and pretended they didn’t know her name. Perhaps she should take a new name in this new place and truly leave the past behind her.

She startled as someone placed a large, steaming cup of milky coffee on the table in front of her and looked up to see Brin. He was frowning.

“Where’s Y’shtola?” he said.

“The Miqo’te? She rushed off.” Elai bit her lip to prevent complaints about Y’shtola’s bossiness escaping. “Said she needed to talk to someone.”

Brin sat down. “Did she say who? Or why?”

“She said a name, but it was strange-sounding. As to why, it was because of the huge serpent I saw when I passed out, I think.”

Brin blinked. “Huge serpent?”

“Yes.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t ask me questions, I don’t understand any of this. Your friend said it was the Echo. She spoke words in a tongue I didn’t know, and yet I did. Then she asked me about the ship and the storm and the serpent. Then she jumped up and said she needed to speak to this Lew-iss-wah …”

“Louisoix?”

Elai scowled. “That’s what I said.”

“Yes. Right. Well … if she’s gone to find Master Louisoix, she’ll be gone for a while so …”

“She told me not to leave Limsa.” There was definitely an edge to that, despite her efforts to sound neutral, and she scowled again. “I’m not a child, to be told what I mustn’t do.”

Brin grinned. “’Shtola is just bossy, you’ll get used to it. And there’s plenty for us to be doing while we wait for her. I bet you’re hungry; I’ll go get us some breakfast, and then I’ll take you along to the adventurers’ guild and introduce you to Baderon. Once you’ve signed up with the guild, you can …”

“You’re taking a lot for granted,” Elai muttered. Even though - only seconds before - she’d thought of the need to make a new start, it was still hard to turn her back on her old life She knew it’d be sensible to accept his offers of assistance – it hardly committed her to anything, after all – but she still bridled at his assumption – and Y’shtola’s assumption – that she would go along with whatever they said.

To her surprise, Brin blushed. It made him look a deal younger than she’d supposed. Probably not much older than her.

“How old are you?” she asked curiously.

His blush deepened. “Why?”

“I thought you were … more but now I think you’re not much older than me.”

“Nineteen summers,” he replied. “You?”

“Seventeen.”

“Same age I was when I left home,” he said.

“Where are you from?”

“Gridania. Small farm in the East Shroud. A little too close to the border with Ala Mhigo for my parents’ comfort; it’s not pleasant having the Garleans glowering at you from a few malms away. They upped sticks and moved into the city when I was fifteen – lost everything, pretty much, since no one was going to buy a farm that was likely to become a war zone – and I made up my mind there and then that I was going to learn how to fight and go back and show the Garleans what-for.” He blushed again. “I guess that sounds foolish, huh?”

Elai shook her head. “No. It sounds purposeful. The Garleans will swallow the world if they can.”

“You hate them too?”

“Not hate,” she said slowly, thinking about it. “I’ve never met a Garlean to be able to feel so strongly about them. There were a few of their soldiers in Kugane, but they were mostly conscripts, not truebloodGarleans. Still, if their legions threatened my home, I would fight them, until they died or I did."

“I’d fight beside you,” Brin declared, and he sounded both fierce and fervent.

She let herself smile at him for the first time. “Perhaps we should have breakfast first though, hmmm?”

\------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently trying to link together all my drabbles about Elai in one coherent work. Please bear with me <3
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments, I thrive on appreciation. If you think the time lapse chapters need more warning, do let me know.


	3. A Fire in the Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred has to deal with Ifrit fall-out, the Warrior has to deal with her Echo visions and/or dreams

“I let her down.” Thancred wanted to thump something very badly. “She ended up facing a primal alone. A _primal_, Minfilia. And she …”

“She triumphed,” Minfilia said, gently and quietly. “Everything was fine. Elai was fine.”

“Everything was _not_ fine. How many good men and women died because I was late? Ifrit tempered all of them except Elai, and we both know what happens to the tempered. Only cure for that is death.” He slammed his hands down on the desk.

Minfilia didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her face was calm, serene. Understanding. Sympathetic. It made him want to scream.

He span away and strode towards the door, but before he could wrench it open, someone knocked on it from the other side.

“Thancred …?” Minfilia murmured.

“It’s okay. Answer them.”

He could feel her eyes on him even as she called out, “Enter.”

The door opened, and Tataru peeked around it.

“Elai is here,” she said, and Thancred could feel how deliberately the Lalafell avoided looking at him, even though he was almost on top of her. “You wanted to see her, Minfilia?”

“Yes, of course. Send her through.”

Thancred caught hold of the door before Tataru could close it. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He strode down the corridor and, if Minfilia called after him, he closed his ears to it. He passed Elai outside; he had no intention of speaking to her but when she walked past him without saying anything, he was - perversely - hurt. No doubt she blamed him for the fate of the others. Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?

He stuttered to a halt in front of the door at the end of the hallway. Taking careful aim, he punched it as hard as he could. Pain shot up his arm, followed swiftly by numbness as all his nerve-endings revolted. His knuckles started to bleed. Tears smarted in his eyes, and he told himself it was reaction.

Another door opened, and Y’shtola looked out. When she saw him, she raised her eyebrows.

“I should have known it was you,” she said. He listened for scorn in her voice, but he only heard resignation. “You’re of the mind that destroying the Waking Sands will help with whatever ails you, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“I see. I didn’t expect agreement.”

“Why not?”

The Miqo’te stepped into the hallway and looked him up and down. “Oh come now. Don’t pretend you aren’t itching for me to accuse you of something? Just so that you can start a fight with me?”

“I’m not as clever as you,” he told her. “So if you have a point to make, I suggest you make it.”

Y’shtola folded her arms. “You want someone to blame you for the Ifrit debacle so that you can defend yourself and feel better.” Her pale eyes measured him carefully. “Frankly I’m surprised you haven’t tried to provoke Elai, given that she doesn’t know you as well as we do.”

He searched for a counter-argument and couldn’t find one. “I don’t …”

“No. You don’t. You certainly don’t carry the responsibility for everyone and everything, Thancred, no matter how much or how often you think you do. Or think you should. You hold yourself to too high a standard.”

“Master Louisoix …”

“Louisoix didn’t expect to shoulder everything alone. And he didn’t castigate himself for circumstances he couldn’t change or control. But you? You try to take every small mischance and misstep upon yourself …”

“Small?” Thancred was shaking. “People _died_, Y’shtola. Elai might have died.”

“And none of that was your doing.”

“But if I’d been there I might have …”

She snorted. “Might have what? Been tempered too?

“Do you think I care about …?”

She stepped forward, eyes narrow and fierce, and he stepped back involuntarily.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think _you_ care. But pray forgive the rest of us, who do.”

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind them. Y’shtola stepped backwards, and Thancred span around, raising his fists.

“My apologies,” Elai said, bowing slightly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Is there something you need?” Y’shtola asked. She sounded quite calm and collected again.

The adventurer - the conqueror of Ifrit, Thancred reminded himself - still didn’t seem to want to address him directly. Not that he blamed her. In her place, he wouldn’t want to speak to him either.

“I have a question,” she said to the Miqo’te. “Or several.”

Y’shtola inclined her head. “Anything we can do to help.”

“Ifrit spoke to me.” Elai shrugged. “Not going to say that wasn’t a shock because it was. He didn’t … I mean … I didn’t know they talked. I mean … I know they can speak but I didn’t think they did conversation. I thought they just shrieked and raged. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Y’shtola smiled. Thancred thought it cost her effort to do so, but she managed it.

“It’s not a problem,” she replied. “I understand that it was all …”

“Unexpected,” Elai said. “Not to mention wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Why me?”

“The Echo,” Y’shtola replied.

“Okay. Fair enough. Then why now?”

Y’shtola frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

Elai shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I was rambling again, that wasn’t what I wanted to ask. So when Ifrit spoke he seemed … well I guess he was pissed he couldn’t temper me. He called me one of the godless blessed. Any idea what that might be about? I mean he’s not wrong. I’m pretty godless. I stopped believing in all that … stuff after … after a while ago.”

“The godless blessed?” Thancred said. He looked at Y’shtola who was frowning and tapping her chin with one finger. Elai was looking at both of them.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment or two. “Like I said, I get the godless part. But blessed? Then he said - I’m trying to remember exactly, I feel like exactly is kind of important - then he said the Paragons warned him about me. No, warned him about my abhorrent kind. And that my existence wasn’t to be tolerated. That’s when it all went to shit as far as conversation was concerned.”

“The Paragons …” Thancred said.

“Aye,” Y’shtola replied. “Our Ascian friends. We should have known they were involved somehow. It seems their twisted schemes encompass even the primals. Don’t concern yourself overmuch with Ifrit’s mutterings, Elai. It seems he was merely spouting the propaganda of the Ascians.”

Elai folded her arms. “Excuse me if I stay concerned, okay. If these Ascians think I’m abhorrent and my existence is not to be tolerated, I’d very much like to know why. And how to guard against them. They’ve already tried to kill me at least twice. Three times if you count Ifrit.”

“I understand this is a great deal for you to deal with …”

“You don’t say.”

“We don’t have much information about the Ascians and their purpose.”

“Lovely.”

“We’re working on it with due diligence, I assure you.” Y’shtola’s expression was pained. “You risk your life to ensure Eorzea’s safety, and we don’t wish there to be any hidden dangers in your path.”

“Great. Marvellous. Thanks.”

She turned away, but Thancred stepped forward and caught hold of her arm.

“I know I apologised already,” he said. “For being late to the party. But it bears repeating. I’m sorry my delay placed you in the way of more danger than was needful.”

Elai looked at him, and the ice in her mismatched eyes seemed to melt a little. It was the first time she’d properly looked at him since Ifrit. “Were you sat in the bar at the Coffer and Coffin while Ifrit was raining fire on me?”

He blinked. “Err … no …”

“Were you sat in any bar at all?”

“No! The Immortal Flames and I were hurrying to your aid, but we were hounded by Amalj’aa hunting parties all the way.”

Elai smiled at him. “Then it wasn’t your fault, and there is nothing to apologise for. I remember … I mean … I knew someone else like you, a long time ago. He liked to blame himself for everything as well. So I’ll tell you what I told him. Stop it. It’s stupid.”

She nodded at him and then at Y’shtola and turned and walked away from them.

Thancred wondered who she’d known, a long time ago, that reminded her of him.

\------------  
Elai dreamed again.

She thought it was a dream although it was becoming harder and harder to tell the difference between her dreams and the visions her Echo visited upon her. But always fire rained down in her dreams, fire and destruction. Meteors plummeting to earth, flaming dragons in the sky, the ground under her feet cracking with the heat. And then she would be standing again in that place amid nothingness, sigils beneath her that she didn’t comprehend, a carved and coloured piece of crystal in her hand.

“This is _not_ a good time,” she shouted. “Echo, or whatever your name is. Really not a good time.”

As if in response, the fire returned. The darkness above her turned into a huge, pulsating ball of light, and the stars themselves tumbled down around her. She cowered back despite herself. “Fuck it. _Go away_.”

“Hear,” said the sonorous voice from her dreams. “Feel... Think... ”

“Lady, I do not have time for this. Send me the fuck back _right now_.”

The voice continued as if it wasn’t listening. It always said the same things in the same un-inflected tone “Crystal Bearer, I am Hydaelyn. All made one.”

“Oh right. Carry on talking in riddles, why don’t you? Because that’s really helpful. Are you sure your real name isn’t Y’shtola? I bet she’s a friend of yours, right?”

“A Light there once was that shone throughout this realm, yet it hath since grown dim. And as it hath faltered, so hath Darkness risen up in its stead, presaging an end to Life.”

“Who the fuck says ‘presaging’ anymore?” Elai muttered. “Well, apart from Urianger, I guess.” She folded her arms and stared at the giant crystal that appeared in front of her, that was slowly pulling her towards it. It seemed to be the crystal speaking - if crystals _could_ speak - the sonorous but definitely female voice was coming from inside.

“For the sake of all,” it said. “I beseech thee: deliver us from this fate!”

Elai folded her arms. “What? From Death? Yeah, right, because that’s really going to happen. Way to give me delusions of grandeur.”

Other faces and bodies appeared in the light around the crystal, were pulled towards it and apparently absorbed. Elai began to struggle and fight to move further away. “Hey, pack it in. We haven’t even been introduced. I mean … technically, yeah, you gave me your name but …”

“The power to banish the Darkness dwelleth in the Crystals of Light,” the voice said. It was creepily monotonous, as if it was reading from a shopping list rather than outlining the way to avoid some kind of world-ending catastrophe. “Journey forth and lay claim to them.”

“Journey forth _please_. And what about these Ascians? Got anything to say about them? Any light - haha - any Light to shed on that little conundrum? Because, you know, if they end my abhorrent existence - and I’m not arguing with their assessment, lately it has been pretty abhorrent - if they kill me, I won’t be …”

“By thy deeds shall the Crystals reveal themselves to thee. Only believe, for the Light liveth in thy heart. Go now, my child, and shine thy Light on all creation.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Elai shook her head. “I guess you’re not listening, huh?”

No one answered.

\------------

Elai joined the Path of the Twelve - back in the days before Carteneau, which was how she saw her life now, before Carteneau and after - because Brinn asked her, even though she could never spend more than ten minutes in the company of Minfilia Warde without wanting to pull out her hair by the roots. Her own hair, not Minfilia’s. Viola said it was because Elai was jealous. The jealousy was undoubtedly true - Minfilia’s closeness to Thancred was like an itch she couldn’t scratch - but Elai persisted in claiming that Minfilia would have been irritating under any circumstance.

When Minfilia told them they could fight primals without being tempered, only Brinn believed her. When she asked them to seek out Ifrit and defeat him, Brinn accepted on behalf of the rest and then dragged them out halfway to nowhere before he said anything. The Company of Heroes had fought and defeated Titan a few months earlier, and Brinn thought they were falling behind.

“We’re all going to die,” Wynfhis said, crossing his arms and glowering.

“No, we’re not,” Brinn replied. “We all have the Echo. We can’t be tempered. We’ll be fine.”

Elai slackened off on the reins of her chocobo, and it turned its head to peer at her curiously.

“Who says?” she demanded. “No, wait. Let me guess. Minfilia, right?”

“Elladie …”

“She has the Echo too, doesn’t she? How come I don’t see her with us?”

Brinn sighed. “We’ve had this discussion before. She’s not a fighter.”

“Convenient for her.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Damn right it isn’t,” Elai said. “She gets other people to take the risks while she claims all the credit.”

“I was thinkin’ ‘bout becoming a free Paladin,” Wynfhis added. “Can’t do that if I’m dead.”

“Planning to join the Sultan Sworn?” Viola asked the huge Sea Wolf.

He shook his head. “Nope. Just trainin’ with ‘em. Papashan said it was fine. But I can’t if I’m dead.”

“You’re not going to die,” Brinn huffed. “No one’s going to die. We’re going to head to Broken Water, drop off our chocobos, and do some scouting. Rumour has it the Amalj’aa have summoned Ifrit again. Something’s interfering with business at any rate, and the miners’ guild have requested that someone investigate. So we’re investigating.”

“We’re getting paid, right?” Viola said.

“Of course.”

“Lead on then.”

Elai swallowed a sigh and looked at Temujin. Of all of them, he was the most level-headed. And he was also their healer. If he was okay with it, so was she. Of course there was always the possibility that he’d follow Viola into the Void if he had to, but Elai didn’t think he’d knowingly let his wife attempt anything suicidal.

Tem looked back at her and shrugged.

According to Brinn, there was a plan. As plans went, it was sketchy, but he was the strategist of the party. He wanted them to travel into Paglth’an – he had the supposed location of the Amalj’aa stronghold marked on a map that he’d gotten from the Ashcrown Consortium – and scout out a back entrance to Ifrit’s lair. Trying to get there through the stronghold itself was clearly going to get them killed. Trouble was, his map was very vague, and the area was a maze of rocky bluffs and narrow canyons that made it easy to go round in circles almost without realising. It was also crawling with Amalj’aa patrols.

“It'd be funny,” Viola said, propping herself up with her lance and wiping her arm across her forehead. “If the Amalj’aa kill us before we even find Ifrit's lair. Some great primal slayers we are, right?”

“Funny?” Brin repeated. He was frowning. “Why in Nophica's Name would it be funny?”

Elai wiped her daggers clean of Amalj’aa blood – which looked and smelled exactly the same as any other kind of blood, whatever the good citizens of Ul’dah said to the contrary – and slid them back into her boot sheaths. “She means funny in a perverse, twisted kind of way.”

“Nah,” Viola said. “I just mean funny. You know? Hahaha?”

Brin shook his head at her. “I know what funny means. I just don't see how it's applicable.”

“It’s ironic,” Temujin said. “Isn’t that right, sweetling?”

Viola shrugged. “I guess …”

“Ironic how?” Brin asked.

“It's like Viola said,” Elai replied. “Some great primal slayers we are. I mean, every few steps we take, we have to fight off another Amalj’aa patrol. They're wearing us down. We won't have anything left when – if – we do ever get to Ifrit. We stride into the desert like heroes, and a patrol of itinerant beastmen kills us and leaves our bones bleaching in the sun. That's ironic.”

“It's not ironic,” Brin said, sounding a little huffy. “It's defeatist. We're just out here reconnoitring. Finding the best way in.”

“Well, we can report with some certainty there are Amalj’aa in the vicinity,” Wynfhis said.

Viola giggled. “There were Amalj’aa in the vicinity.” She waved at the six dead bodies from their latest encounter. “Not anymore.”

“I'm not sure leaving a trail of corpses behind us is helpful.” Elai pointed out. “I mean it's not exactly discreet.”

“Are we trying to be discreet?” Viola frowned. “Discretion isn't one of my talents. I thought we were just slaughtering our way to Ifrit. I mean … they already tried talking, right? Isn't that what Minfilia said? They tried to find out why the beastmen keep doing the primal thing, tried to talk them out of it, and got nowhere. Yeah? So now they’ve sent us? Ouch, Temujin, damn it! That hurt.”

“Stop wriggling and hold still,” Temujin replied. “Your ribs are broken.”

“Hit me with a cure spell then, lover.”

“Cure spells are for emergencies.”

“You think this isn't an emergency?” Viola frowned at him. “We're lost in the desert ...”

“We're not lost,” Brin interjected.

“And even if we were lost,” Temujin said. “We could 'port back to the camp at Broken Water. Teleporting will take less out of you than the rapid healing of a cure spell. Or a potion.”

“Strap it up then,” Viola replied. “I'm fine. I thought we came out here to deal with Ifrit.”

“If we can find him,” Elai pointed out. She shiViolad her eyes with one hand and scanned the way ahead. “I think we've come too far east. That’s supposing there even is a back door in the first place.”

The canyon they'd been following for the last couple of hours had begun to dip to the left and open out; the sheer cliffs on either side had begun to lessen in height also. Elai was no expert on the geography or geology of Ul’dah, but she knew the plateau east of the Sargolii desert opened out onto the arid hills of the Amalj'aa homeland. The rocks and spurs ahead, misty grey as they marched to meet the horizon, held hundreds of beastmen fighters.

“And it'll be dark in two or three hours,” she added, lowering her hand. “'Porting back to Broken Water might be our best option.”

“Godsdamnit,” Viola pouted. “If we go back, Tem'll hand me over to a chirurgeon, and I'll spend the next sennight in bed. Let's at least check the western cliffs for a way through.”

Temujin folded his arms and frowned at her. “And if we accidentally on purpose stumble across Ifrit's hidey-hole?”

She gave him a sunny smile. “Then we'll know exactly where it is when we come back.”

“Why do I feel it's more likely that you'll charge in shouting 'death to all primals' rather than retreating to heal up?”

“Probably because she'll charge in shouting 'death to all primals',” Wynfhis said with a grin.

“That's what I thought.”

“We'll head back,” Brin said. “Once it starts to go dark so don't scowl at me, Viola. There's no point taking on Ifrit if you're injured ...”

“One cure spell ...”

“One cure spell, and your body will take hours longer to recover after the fight,” Temujin told her. “Why do I have to keep going over this? Every time I heal you, it's a physical shock. One your body absorbs, yes, but the more you come to rely on it, the more long-lasting the effects will be. Using it often to avoid having to heal naturally is a very bad idea. And, since we'll be facing a primal, it's unlikely to be just one cure spell either.”

“We'll head back along the canyon,” Brin continued. “And we'll look for a path or cave that'll take us west. Once it gets too dark for scouting, we'll teleport to camp. If we find anything in the meantime, we'll make sure we can find our way back to it. The Amajina Consortium's paying us to deal with Ifrit because having a primal in the area is interfering with their mining operations, but they're fully aware it's likely to take weeks rather than days to track him down. So there's no rush.” He raised his eyebrows at Viola. “Understood?”

She poked out her tongue at him. “Not sure why you think I’m the one that rushes.”

Temujin pulled her upright. “Because you’re a lancer. They’re famous for it.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Ishgard and train as a dragoon.”

“They don’t like strangers in Ishgard,” Wynfhis said. “Be a free paladin like me.”

“My little sister’s married to an Ishgardian,” Viola replied. “My family’s so wealthy, he was prepared to overlook the fact that we’re Duskwights. Baron de Jaimberd. Right knob. Thinks he’s special ‘cos he was born into a title. All the toffs in Ishgard are like that, but I’d put up with them to join the Knights Dragoon.” She grinned at all of us. “Maybe be the Azure one day, huh?”

Viola, Brinn and Wynfhis often talked about their plans for the future, their ambitions. Temujin and Elai didn’t. Elai thought Tem was only interested in books and Viola really; he’d be quite happy to sit at home reading and growing things but he knew that wouldn’t suit his wife. It wasn’t what Elai expected from an Auri male; she thought they were fierce fighters. But he told her she was thinking of the Xaela, the tribe like her; they came from the Azim Steppe and were hunters and warriors. Tem was a Raen, born in Kugane and raised with a gaggle of brothers and sisters there, a city kid like Elai, who was Xaela in appearance, but that was all. Perhaps that was why she’d always drifted along, driven only by the currents of life that picked her up and put her down as they chose. She didn’t know who she was, so she didn’t know what direction to travel.

Elai shook her head slightly, almost as if she thought she could shake such thoughts out of it.

“We should get going,” she said. “Only a few hours left before dark.”

Brinn looked at Viola – who was walking gingerly and using her lance as an oversized cane – and frowned.

“We’ll head back towards Broken Water,” he replied. “You’re right, we’ve come too far east. Would you mind scouting ahead, Elai? Best if we don’t run into any more patrols.”

“Don’t coddle me,” Viola groused, standing a little more upright.

Brinn gave her one of his I’m-in-charge stares. “It’s not coddling, it’s due care.”

“At Elai’s expense?”

“Scouting’s what I do,” Elai said. “If you’d let me off my leash sooner, we wouldn’t have had to fight our way through half of Paglth’an.”

Brinn shrugged. “I didn’t want to split the party.”

“We’d have lost you in the wilds,” Viola added.

“I don’t get lost that easily.”

Viola laughed and then gritted her teeth as if laughing was painful. “Maybe you don’t. But we do.”

Elai laughed too. “You all make enough noise for a deaf diremite to find you.”

Brinn crossed his arms and scowled. She winked at Viola, shouldered her bow, and slipped off into the inky shadows on the east side of the canyon. Once she was far enough away that the sound of their footsteps faded, she picked a path up the tumbled rocks until she found herself in sunlight again. She could see ahead as the narrow valley twisted and turned, a stone serpent weaving its way back to Broken Water. She could see behind where they’d left the bodies of the last patrol. Eastwards the wind-carved cliffs and bluffs hid the beastmen stronghold.

Elai let her senses drift in widening circles, tracing the aetheric whispers of the land. Her gift – at least in regard to this – was what made her such a useful scout. She’d no idea if any of the others had the same skill; it had never been mentioned, and her foster father had cautioned her about confiding in anyone. She didn’t even know if it was connected to her Echo. Master Ayahe wasn’t bothered by her ability to sense aether; what had worried him was the fact that she seemed to be able to pull it from her surroundings and use it. 

Elai couldn’t sense anything nearby that might be an Amalj’aa, but she could feel the bright concentration of aetheric sparks that were her friends. Echo–users always registered loudly, the equivalent – or so she reckoned it – of noisy but melodious laughter. And there was a bass rumble somewhere down below, far enough to her right that she couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but intriguing enough that she slid down from her perch to investigate. She pulled out one of her daggers as she did so. And she realised she was half-humming, half-breathing a note that echoed the pitch of the bass murmur.

“Interesting,” she muttered.

She followed the curve of the canyon south-west until it opened out into another bowl-shaped gully. The floor of the canyon edged around via a ledge on the left, but there was a narrow spur that dived downwards. Elai knelt to examine it more closely and noticed that the stone was smoothed and worn, as if many feet had walked that way over the years. She followed it gingerly to the bottom where it curved backwards around itself and into the mouth of a cave. The bass aetheric thrum was much louder now and definitely coming from inside the cave. Sheathing her daggers, she fled back up the path to find the others. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she glanced behind herself once or twice to make sure the source of that sound wasn’t pursuing her.

“Think I found him,” she gasped, dropping down onto the canyon in front of Brinn. “It. Whatever.”

Everyone put away the weapons they’d drawn at her precipitous approach.  
“You’re lucky I didn’t spit you on my spear,” Viola grumbled.

“You’ve found Ifrit?” Brinn demanded.

“I …think so,” Elai said. “I mean, I found a cave. And the way that leads to it looks like it gets a lot of use. Like, you know, the Amalj’aa are processing back and forth a lot. And the cave feels …well …”

“Ifrit-y?” Viola suggested.

Elai grinned at her. “Yeah. Definitely Ifrit-y.”

“We should check it out.”

Brinn frowned.

“We should,” she insisted. “If it’s not the right cave, there’s no point coming back to it. If it is the right cave, we can ‘port back to Broken Water and rest up instead of carrying on looking.”

The rest of us nodded with varying degrees of conviction. Tem seemed the least convinced; probably because he knew that if Ifrit was in the cave, Viola was charging in without worrying about preparations.

“Fine,” Brinn said. “We’ll all go to the cave entrance. But me and Elai’ll check it out. We’re not - I repeat not - fighting Ifrit today. Understood?”

Elai led them back to the gully; it took longer than if she was alone since only Tem climbed as well as she did. But when they stood in front of the dark gaping mouth, they all looked grim-faced. She didn’t ask if they could sense the concentration of aether ahead; it was plain from their expressions that they sensed something.  
Brinn drew his bow, nocked an arrow and gestured for her to follow. The two of them crept down the passageway inside until it opened out into a much wider space. Elai paused on the threshold and looked up, but she couldn’t see the roof; the cave disappeared into inky darkness above.

“I don’t see anything,” Brinn said, low-voiced.

Elai was still utterly certain this was the right place. “It’s a big cave.”

He sighed. “I’ll go left, you go right. Keep to the wall. And Elladie?”

“Yeah?”

“Quietly please.”

She scowled at him, and he grinned.

She’d taken less than twenty paces when she heard Viola’s voice. “There’s nothing here!”

Elai whirled around and hissed at her. “Shhhh!”

“For fuck’s sake, Viola,” Brinn cursed. “Why can’t you ever do as you’re told? Look!”

Elai span back and looked. In the distant darkness of the cave, a mote of light appeared. It was perfectly round and tumbled rapidly towards us. As it tumbled, it grew and grew. Elai retreated as fast as she could, hearing Tem mutter a curing spell as he reached out for Viola. Wynfhis stepped forward out the cave mouth and in front of the rest of them; he planted his feet firmly on the rocky floor, drew his sword and held his shield across his body.

“Come on then, you fucker!” he challenged the mote of light as it coalesced into the vast shape of Ifrit, Lord of the Inferno. “Come an’ taste the sweetness of me blade.”

\------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Thancred. That took me by surprise, this chapter wasn't supposed to be about him. Think there might be more in the next one too. Interesting ... I'm trying to keep this as canon as possible (rewatching a lot of cutscenes to be sure I remember stuff right) but at the same time including the way my OC feels, which is often fairly canon divergent and always has been. If you notice any gaping story holes/lore holes please let me know. And please go ahead and comment, it's great to have feedback


	4. Blue skies from pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred has had better ideas in his life. Sadly he doesn't realise this in time

Urianger’s cupboard - Thancred refused to call it a study - contained an eclectic collection of items apart from all the scrolls and books and maps the mage had accumulated. There was a jade statuette of a winged snake, so intricately carved that it was possible to make out the individual scales; a series of glass jars that contained misshapen items in some kind of liquid, all of which Thancred preferred not to examine too closely; and a desiccated - or possibly mummified - hand laid palm down on a piece of embroidered linen.

Thancred picked up the linen and peered more closely at the hand.

“So,” he said. “What do we know about Ascians?”

Urianger, busy sorting through a pile of scrolls whilst muttering to himself, didn’t reply.

“Urianger?”

“Hmmm?”

“Ascians? Also …” Thancred gave the mummified hand a sniff. To his surprise, it smelled, not of rot, but of incense and herbs. “What in the name of Thal is this?”

“Hmmm?” Urianger repeated, not looking up from the scroll he was unwrapping. “Didst thou speak?”

"Yes, Urianger. I asked you a question. The Ascians? Any ideas?" 

"Pertaining to what aspect of their nature?" 

"Well, how to get rid of them would be useful." Thancred lifted the hand up and peered through it to see if it was opaque or not. "They seem to object to our primal-slaying friend, and I would hate for anything to happen to her whilst she's busy saving the realm." 

Urianger bundled the scroll away with a sigh. "Perchance she might always carry a small sprig of lavender and a flask of holy water from Nophica's Well?" 

"Really?" 

"No.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t understand how Thancred even appeared to believe him. “Of course not. Such measures are but feeble superstition."

"No need to get snippy. You're the expert. I’m almost guaranteed to accept anything you tell me at this point.”

"Tis hardly accurate to name me expert. This matter is beyond my ken. Truly I know not what amulet or incantation might protect against the Bringers of Chaos. If any. Lavender is as like to work as any other warding." 

"So that was just a long-winded way of saying you don't know?" 

Urianger folded his arms. "If thou dost find my speech unpalatable, thou need not stay. Indeed, if thou art bent upon the destruction of mine treasures…” He leaned forward and removed the linen cloth - along with the hand - from Thancred. “ … The sooner thou departeth, the better.”

Thancred grinned. “Treasures, huh? What does it do?”

“What doth what do?”

“The hand.”

“Oh.” Urianger put it back down on the shelf, positioning it carefully. “According to the knave who procured it, tis a Hand of Glory.”

“I gather that means something?”

“Aye. Tis the dried and pickled appendage of a hanged man that has very …”

“I beg your pardon?” Thancred sidled sideways across the desk away from the hand. “I thought you said the dried appendage of a hanged man?”

“Indeed so.”

“Urianger, that’s foul.”

“I cannot argue with thy pronouncement.”

“So why in the name of all the Twelve do you have one?”

“Legend claimeth such artifacts possess great and marvellous properties. I wished to ascertain the truth of such claims. Sadly I have lacked the time for such experiments of late and so the Hand sits neglected upon my shelf …”

“Remind me,” Thancred said, suppressing a shudder. “Not to ask you for any ghoulish tales when All Saints’ Wake is upon us. I fear I’d not sleep without nightmares for a week at least.”

“Thou art too easily swayed by foolish words.”

“As you say. But I hope I have the proper respect for such matters. Which brings us back to my original purpose. To wit, the Ascians. If I wanted to track down this masked mage and bring an end to his persecution of Elai …?”

Urianger folded his arms and bent his gaze upon Thancred. “The utmost caution would be needed.”

“I rather supposed it might. Nothing else?”

“History has little to say on the subject of these beings.” Urianger sighed. “Save that they are powerful and cunning. Whispers of them lurk in all manner of places. Tis mine aim to seek out such whispers and investigate them most closely; however I am yet at the beginning of this venture.”

“Small words, please,” Thancred instructed. “Preferably no more than two syllables each. In fact yes or no is probably best. You’re saying you can’t help?”

“Yes.”

Thancred waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. He widened his eyes. “Amazing. I didn’t know you could do that. At least five sentences less than you normally require. ”

“Begone,” Urianger growled, reaching for the Hand of Glory.

Thancred fled with no small haste.

# \------------

The tavern in Buscarron’s Druthers wasn’t large. It was never over-busy either, being in a remote part of the Black Shroud. There were a couple of houses in the village as well as a stable; otherwise the nearest habitation was some malms down the road in Quarrymill.

Elai sat in the tavern nursing a cup of brandy and watching the door. Rain clouds had blown in during late afternoon; the wind had risen and started to buffet the huge trees, making them creak and groan in a most alarming fashion. She hightailed it back to the inn and settled down to wait for Papalymo and Y’da, who’d ridden over to the Cellars that morning. As twilight fell, and the storm worsened, she began to wonder if she should go out to look for them. Possibly they’d taken shelter somewhere - great, hollowed-out tree trunks lay here and there throughout the forest, testament to how wild the weather could grow - and they were certainly able to look after themselves, but if they came to harm she would feel badly.

She’d just made up her mind to go and kit up, draining the last of her brandy, when the bedraggled pair of Scions tumbled through the door.

“That was not a shortcut, Y’da,” Papalymo said sternly. His monocle began to mist up, and he took it off and tried to dry it on his wet - his very wet - cloak.

Y’da stood still and dripped all over the wooden floor. “I didn’t say it was short. I said it was closer. It was closer.”

“We had to climb up a giant tree in a hurricane.”

“I didn’t make you follow me.”

“I’m not good at climbing,” the Lalafell huffed. “And it was deeply inconsiderate of you to … ah, Elai. There you are. You made it back safely, I see. No sign of the Elder sylph, I gather?”

Elai bit her lip to keep from laughing; it would have been most discourteous. “You both look wet through.”

“Yes, indeed,” Papalymo agreed. “There is a storm of some magnitude raging outside.”

Y’da nodded. “It’s big, too. Big and wet. And stormy.”

“Which is what I just said.”

“I know. I know what magnitude means. I was emphasising.”

Elai grinned. Papalymo and Y’da were excellent entertainment. She hadn’t known them well before Carteneau - and obviously they didn’t remember her - so there was no bitterness to spoil her pleasure. Their steadfast friendship with each other was quite fascinating, given how little they had in common, and she had yet to tire of watching and listening to them.

“The house special tonight is some kind of stew,” she said. “Antelope, I think. I’ll ask Buscarron to heat some up while you two dry off. I take it you didn’t have any luck with the hunt for Frixio either?”

“Frankly …” Papalymo took off his boots and tipped water from them. “Frankly it’s like looking for the proverbial button in a pumpkin patch. There’s so much forest, and the sylphs are even smaller than I am.”

“You’re making a mess all over the floor,” Y’da said. “Dripping and sloshing.”

“So are you.”

“You should go and get changed.”

“We should _both_ go and get changed. Elai, a bowl of stew sounds marvellous. Please convey my apologies about the floor to Buscarron and ask him if we may eat.”

When they returned, Papalymo had his hair wrapped in a towel; that, accompanied by the fact that he’d also abandoned his monocle, made him look about six summers old. Y’da had removed her armour but kept the turban she always wore; wisps of damp blonde hair hung out of it here and there, fluffing up as they dried. She was clothed in a dry shirt and loose kecks and a pair of slippers shaped like moogles. As they walked through the common room, Elai could hear Papalymo chastising her for her footwear.

“Well Elai likes my slippers,” Y’da said. “Don’t you, Elai?”

“They look warm …”

“See?” Y’da crowed.

“She didn’t say she liked them,” Papalymo responded crossly. “She said they looked warm.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It so is.”

“Why don’t you both eat your stew before it goes cold?” Elai said.

“She means you should stop arguing with me, Papalymo.”

“No, she means _you_ should stop arguing with me, Y’da.”

Elai bit her lip to keep from laughing. She suspected that they argued entirely for their own entertainment; it was funny to watch, for sure.

“So how was your day, Elai?” Y’da asked, putting her nose in the air and pretending to ignore Papalymo. “No sylphs for you either?”

Elai shook her head. “Not a one. A few Garleans though, hiding in the undergrowth. I chased them off.”

“You should’ve killed them,” Y’da told her. “Best Garlean is a dead Garlean.”

“Well I don’t disagree with that. And I’ve no objection to picking off the entire Empire one by one, finishing up with Solus himself. But these were just youngsters. Conscripts mostly.”

“Who ran straight back to their masters. Little beasts.”

“Let’s not have politics with our supper,” Papalymo said.

Y’da narrowed her eyes. “You’re becoming very dictatorial, Papalymo.”

The Lalafell stared at her “Very what?”

Elai stifled a laugh again as Y’da frowned. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No, you said it exactly right but … damn it, Y’da. I’m not dictatorial.”

Yda giggled, putting up a hand to stifle it. Papalymo snorted and folded his arms.

“Maybe I’ll ride with Elai tomorrow,” he huffed. “She doesn’t torment me.”

Y’da immediately stopped laughing and looked penitent. “I was just teasing you, I didn’t mean it.”

“You sounded like you meant it.”

“Well, I didn’t. But I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Very well. You are forgiven. Eat your stew and go to bed. We have another long day tomorrow, and we should get plenty of rest. I thought we could head in the opposite direction, maybe take a look at Snakemoult …”

They continued to bicker amicably as they ate their food and then nodded a goodnight to Elai and went upstairs. Once they’d gone, she drew her stool closer to the fire and took a leather-bound book out of one of the pouches she wore on her belt. 

It had taken weeks of effort before she was comfortable sat in sight of a fire; her nightmares were full of flames and destruction, and she no longer found even the smallest kitchen hearth soothing or comforting. But fire was a vital tool, especially out in the wilds, and she worked hard to overcome her fear. She doubted she’d ever be practised in thaumaturgy however; it even made her nervous to be close to Papalymo when he worked his magicks.

She had begun writing down her dreams, both in order to exorcise their horrors and to understand what they signified. She sat with the book in front of her on most evenings now, reading through what she’d written or making notes and speculating as her thoughts wandered.

She was sitting comfortably, her feet up on Y’da’s empty chair and a half-drunk glass of brandy next to her, when the outside door opened again with a thud. There was a flurry of wind and rain in the entrance-way, and she looked up to see who’d arrived.

To her surprise, it was Thancred. She slunk down on her stool without thinking, lifting up the journal to hide her face. She still couldn’t meet him without wanting to disappear. Every time he looked at her and didn’t remember, she felt a twist of rage and hurt inside. Not rage at him - or not only at him - but at the world, at fate, at the gods, for shattering her existence so thoroughly.

“Elai?” he said, frowning a little.

She put the journal down. “Thancred.”

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Nine Ivies. Are Y’da and Papalymo with you?”

“You look tired,” she told him, standing up. “And wet. Come and sit down. I’ll get you a drink.” She glanced over at Buscarron, still behind the bar even though it was growing late, and the man nodded.

Thancred sank down into Y’da’s chair and closed his eyes. “A drink would be perfect. Several drinks in fact.”

“What are you doing in the Shroud?”

“Keeping my ear to the ground.” He opened his eyes but didn’t look at her. “The usual.”

“Ear to the ground for what?”

His eyes flickered away again. “Anything. Trouble. You know.”

“I do know,” she agreed. “I also know all the tricks for avoiding a direct answer, so you’re wasting your time. What kind of trouble?”

He unfastened his wet cloak and took it off before he answered. “Our masked friends. The Paragons. I don’t like them hanging around. I don’t like that they’ve singled you out. So I spread the word among my contacts to watch for them, and since then I’ve been running around, following up endless vague leads that go nowhere.” He glanced at her. “It’s frustrating.”

“I can imagine.”

Thancred smiled and nodded to Buscarron as the man brought over two more brandies. Then he took a long swallow of his own drink and stared down into it. “If you can avoid mentioning any of this to Papalymo and Y’da …?”

She cocked her head to one side. “Because?”

“Because I’d prefer Minfilia didn’t know. She’ll only worry. I’ve discussed it with Urianger so you needn’t be concerned.”

She was concerned, if only because he looked so worn down, but she didn’t press. She knew he wouldn’t thank her for it. “Well, if you want to avoid them, you’ll need to leave early. They’re staying here in the Druthers. The Sylphs have lost their Elder, and we’re trying to help find them.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What are you reading?”

“Nothing much. Just some scribbles of my own.”

He raised his eyebrows. “An adventurer who’s also a wordsmith? Unusual. May I …?”

Elai closed the leather-bound book with a snap. “No. It’s private. And wordsmith is very much exaggerating the case. I like to make note of my own thoughts in case they turn out to be relevant or helpful in the future. If you must call me something, call me curious.”

He saluted her with his cup of brandy. It reminded her far too painfully of that night when they first became lovers. So much so that she bade him a hurried, if not brusque farewell and went upstairs, to lie in her narrow bed and try not to weep.

# \------------

In truth Thancred was in the Black Shroud following up yet another rumour of a masked ruffian. During the past few weeks he felt as though he’d traversed the entire length and breadth of Eorzea several times with nothing of note to show for it.

On this occasion he’d arranged to meet one of his contacts in Gridania. Ilih’to Tuun was one of Jacke’s rogues, and new to being part of Thancred’s network. The Miqo’te had wanted to meet by the Leatherworkers’ guild until Thancred pointed out to him that sneaking around in the dark was much more likely to make folk suspicious. Meeting in the Canopy for a drink, talking secrets in normal voices, was much the best way.

Ilih’to still didn’t look convinced. He kept whispering and acting furtive.

"If you keep behaving like you've something to hide," Thancred said. "Folks will assume you're hiding something." He drained the last of his brandy. "Drink up, and we'll walk. Maybe then you'll stop looking like you stole the Seedseer's favourite staff and burned it." 

The Miqo'te bit his lip. "I just feel like everyone's watchin' me." 

"That would be because everyone _is_ watching you." Thancred stood and tugged the lad up by his collar. "Walk." 

They followed the path around to the aetheryte plaza and then towards the Quiver’s Hold. It was a cool evening. Thancred could taste autumn in the air. He'd been running around forever, chasing shadows, and summer had started to fade without him noticing. All Saints' Wake would be on them soon. He shivered a little, feeling like a superstitious fool for remembering the desiccated hand in Urianger’s study; he didn’t want to be hunting Ascians still by All Saints’ Wake.

"Talk, boy," he told Ilih'to sharply. 

"Ah… Ri … right.. Yes." The boy was babbling. "I asked about like I was told. Masked men. Mages. No one was much help, but then a few days ago a Duskwight tracked me down, and told me he was worried about his sister." 

"Worried because ...?" 

"I'm getting to that. She works at one of them big houses outside the city, but she’s not gone home for a few days. Her brother asked the steward if she was well, and the steward told him to get lost and stop askin’ questions. So he snuck up to the house to have a poke around, see if he could find her. That’s when he saw the masked cove. Told me the steward walked up to the front door and knocked - which was weird, right, cos he has a key - and the masked cove answered the door.”

“When was this?”

“Three days ago. Least, that’s when I talked to the brother. Probably two, three days before that when he saw your mark.”

“Where’s the house?”

“Near Hopeseed Pond. Name of Haukke Manor.”

Thancred took a coin-purse out of his pocket. “Thanks, Ilih’to. You’ve been a big help.”

The boy pocketed the money eagerly. “No problem. Glad to help. Want me to come with you to the house?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll find it.”

Ilih’to nodded and headed off, walking back in the direction of the aetheryte plaza. Thancred looked up, checking the whereabouts of the moon. He would have preferred a cloudy night - full dark was kinder to a sneak thief than moonlight - but he wasn’t happy to wait until there was one. Whatever was going on at the manor house - even if it wasn’t Ascians - it didn’t sound very savoury.

He nodded to the guards as he passed through White Wolf Gate and followed the road as it curved down to the hollow of Hopeseed Pond. The area, full of fallen-down trees, lichens, and mosses, was overrun with morbols, and it took him some time to dodge around them as he headed for the manor gates.

“Strange place to build a house,” he muttered to himself.

Looking up the slope in the moonlight, he could see the gates stood open. Also strange. He didn’t sheathe his daggers as he crept up. The silvery light drained the colour out of the gardens. They were laid out in typically Gridanian fashion; lots of water and topiary and pale cobbled stone.

Thancred followed the wall around to the left. There was nothing obviously sinister about the sight; nothing overtly dangerous either, apart from the morbols outside, and they were natural denizens of the landscape. But he still felt uneasy. The skin prickled on the back of his neck, and he crouched down and stayed still, scanning his surroundings. He’d been a sneak thief long enough to learn to trust his instincts.

Nothing moved.

“You’re imagining things,” he muttered under his breath. “These Ascians have got you spooked. Check if there’s an easy way inside; if not, you can come back tomorrow and knock at the front door like everyone else.”

He was conscious of hoping there wasn’t an easy way in and chided himself for it.

At the back of the house, the gardens turned less ornamental and more utilitarian. Darker too in the shadow cast by the building. A narrow path led between vegetable beds to a door that presumably opened into the manor kitchens. Thancred snuck along it and tried the door; it opened quietly into a space filled with shelves and barrels and boxes. The pantry, presumably.

He stopped on the threshold and narrowed his eyes. “Not suspicious at all, friend.”

Nothing moved.

“Unlikely they just forgot to lock it. Still, what’s the worst that can happen, eh?”

He stepped inside, tensing in expectation. Nothing stirred. It was very dark, but he could just make out the shape of another door opposite as his eyes adjusted. He moved very carefully across the stone floor towards it, not shifting his weight fully until he was sure nothing would give way beneath him. Or creak and betray his presence. He reached the other door without incident and tried the handle. It, too, opened quietly.

Thancred could see heavy shelves lining both sides of the walls in the next room. Some looked to hold more barrels. The ones on the right were narrower and housed bottles; he was half-tempted to investigate, in case the manor’s occupants owned some choice vintage.

“Maybe even some Bacchus,” he murmured, stepping forwards.

The door shut behind him, making him jump. He span around, his daggers ready, and a deeper, more velvety darkness pooled between him and the door.

“Well, well,” purred a voice. “Twould have suited me better to spring a trap on the Crystal Bearer. But I perceive a way you might aid me nonetheless.”

“Show yourself,” Thancred demanded.

The voice shifted so it was behind him. “Oh, there’s no need for that.”

Thancred darted forward, reaching for the door handle, but something seized his ankles, wrapping itself around them and holding him in place. He let out a curse and struggled to wrench free. No matter how much he twisted and turned, he couldn’t break loose. He bent down, meaning to cut the bonds with his daggers but - despite the sensation of vines or some such touching his skin - he could find nothing there to sever.

“Go ahead,” the voice said. “Try to escape the tendrils of mine will. I shall wait and watch your efforts grow more and more feeble as you tire.”

He felt something brush against his face, perchance the caress of a hand upon his skin, and he jerked backwards. He couldn’t see - the darkness in the small wine cellar was now absolute - but the space around him seemed to swell with a presence that was palpable.

“Let me go, fiend.” Anger and some small measure of fear thickened and deepened his voice. “Show yourself and fight me. Or do you fear me so much?”

The other spoke in his ear. “I have no wish to damage you, champion of the Crystal Bearer. Your vessel is much more useful to me unbroken.”

Thancred shuddered. “Explain yourself.”

“Oh I think you know whereof I speak. Your body senses it, even if your mind shies away.”

He fought against the tethers once more, hard enough that it left him aching and gasping for breath, but he was still unable to move.

“Tired already?” the voice asked. “Truly your kind is feeble beyond measure.”

“Damn you.”

“That is not within your power.”

He could feel something touching him, all around, as if the room had slowly shrunk and now compressed itself against him. Something settled around his throat and upon his chest, but it was too dark to see. Breathing was difficult. He was full to bursting in every sense, a vile invasion of his pores, his mouth, every orifice into his body. It was grossly intimate, and he wanted to retch, but he longer controlled his actions or reactions. His hands moved. The tendrils that held him vanished. He tried to run, but his feet didn’t obey him.

“What have you done?” he moaned, but his voice stayed silent.

“Excellent,” he said, in his own voice, Thancred’s voice. “You’re quite perfect. No one will suspect a thing, or at least not until it is far too late. A fine night’s work, I feel. Elidibus will be pleased.”

# \------------

# 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Thancred. A bit of Papalymo & Y'da for comic relief. Then more Thancred. Took me a while to figure out when & where he ran into Lahabrea, hopefully this works. Please comment & leave kudos, it's the feedback that keeps me writing


	5. Can you tell a green field ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elai needs a big drink and a even bigger library ...

Elai blinked and stared around.

She was standing in the narrow entrance to a cave. There was a rocky ledge in front of her, about six or seven fulms across, that ended in empty space. Judging by the view - of steep mountains, grey, black and purple, bare of trees or any other vegetation - the ledge dropped away steeply out of sight. There was also a storm raging beyond the cave, a veritable tempest, with winds fiercer and more terrifying than any she’d ever felt or heard. Typhoons battered the Ruby Sea - where she’d spent most of her childhood - on a yearly basis, wreaking havoc and destruction as thoroughly as any Garlean gunship. But this was elemental fury on another level. The only things that protected her were the curving walls of the cave and the narrowness of the gap.

“What the …? Where in the seven hells am I _now_? If this is some _stupid_ godly joke, Hydaelyn …”

__

She was asleep. She remembered going to bed. She was in Camp Bronze Lake, at the hospice there, waiting to meet with yet another ex-member of the Company of Heroes. Since she could recall all that perfectly, it meant this was another of those gods-damned Echo dreams; when she dreamed normally - which she still did sometimes - she never knew it was a dream till she awoke.

__

Elai hadn’t yet figured out why the Echo kept throwing these ‘true dreams’ at her. Since its power was to transcend boundaries and show her visions she might otherwise never see, she supposed they had significance. But what that was, she’d no idea. Hydaelyn hadn’t become any more communicative or any less prone to talking as though She’d swallowed some ancient tome. It also didn’t help that Elai had yet to discuss her visions with anyone. She reckoned Urianger or Y’shtola might be able to decode them; but she also reckoned they would listen to her, nod, and think ‘mentally unstable’. Rather than the chosen vessel of some crystalline goddess.

__

“Okay,” she said. “So. Really, really, _really_ windy place. Noted. Is that it? Can I wake up now?”

__

“Xnanuchan?” asked a voice from behind her. “Are you well? Did you speak? Will you calm the winds even yet with words of power?”

__

Elai span around.

__

An old woman stood behind her. Very old. She was almost bald - just wisps of white hair from her mottled scalp - and folds of skin that nigh on hid her eyes and mouth. She wore the approximation of a robe, made out of badly stitched-together animal skins. Elai glanced down at herself and saw she wore a similar garment, although hers was pure white and sewn with more skill. Her skin was also darker than it should be, the colour of stained oak.

__

“Xnanuchan?” the old woman repeated.

__

Elai knew the words she said, but she didn’t speak in any tongue Elai recognised. She understood Xnanuchan was her name inside this dream.

__

“I am … adrift,” she murmured in reply, without really knowing what she meant.

__

“We are all adrift.”

__

“No, I mean …” It was pointless attempting to explain. It was a _dream_. Even if it was a true dream, nothing she said should matter or make a difference. That was one of the cardinal rules of the Echo; she couldn’t change the things she saw even though she could take part in them. “Yes.” She bowed her head. “We are all adrift.”

__

“The Bouyo is come. He waits below.”

__

“I see.” Really, if this was supposed to mean something, to help, to show her the way, she ought to be given some warning - some study notes beforehand - so that she knew what to expect. “Should I …?”

__

The old woman made an obeisance, placing the backs of her hands against her forehead and bending low. “He would speak with you, Xnanuchan. He would tell you the fight is lost, and you should resist no longer.”

__

“Oh, would he now?” She already disliked this Bouyo. He was about to learn that no one ever - _ever_ \- told her the fight was lost. “Send him up then, by all means.”

__

The old woman turned and left via another narrow opening that seemed to lead deeper into the cave. Given the winds that raged outside, it made sense that folks hid from the storm. But who were these people? And where? And how was she this Zanu person yet still Elai? Being two people at the same time was very confusing, although she supposed she wasn’t entirely new to it. She was often still Elladie inside herself.

__

A man came into the chamber - well to be truthful it was no more than a hole in the mountain - and looked at her. The Bouyo, she presumed. She knew it was a title in the same way that she knew Xnanuchan was her name. There wasn’t a literal translation her Echo could supply, but she knew it meant something like ‘the guide in the dark’. Which sounded promising. Hopeful even. But not if he came to tell her to stop fighting.

__

He didn’t bow. He acknowledged her with a nod. Like her, he wore a robe of pure white animal skins. He had piebald hair, again like her, a streak of more white above his right eye and temple. His eyes commanded attention; pale gold that seemed to glow against the contrast of his dark irises. Unlike her, his skin was pale, as if the caves were his natural habitat. She frowned as she looked at him, feeling a tug of something she couldn’t identify.

__

“Xnanuchan,” he said.

__

“Bouyo,” she replied, wondering if that was right - if she was supposed to call him ‘my lord’ or something - and yet not caring at the same time. Maybe this one had some answers for her.

__

“The winds are come.”

__

“You don’t say.”

__

He frowned, and she smiled.

__

“The people have fled inside where they are safe,” he continued, his narrowed eyes staying fixed upon her face. “There is naught to do now but endure.”

__

“Says who?”

__

“That which you dreaded has come to pass. You cannot turn it aside. If you look inside your heart, you know this.”

__

“Well I do know that you’re most probably full of bullshit.” Elai lost patience with the charade. “And I don’t like giving up. I’ll fight till I stop breathing, whatever the odds. I’ve faced worse than a bit of a hurricane …”

__

He folded his arms, his expression one of puzzlement, then suspicion. “Who are you? You are not Xnanuchan?” He made it sound like it was a meeting between a statement and a question, as if he wasn’t certain himself what he was thinking. He began to stalk around her, and Elai turned, wanting to keep him in sight. The thought of him behind her was uncomfortable.

__

“I look like Xnanuchan,” she said. It sounded feeble. It would have been better to deny him, but she knew she’d fail any test he put to her, and she wasn’t certain she could distract him with vague-sounding conundrums. Those golden eyes were very sharp; telling him she was adrift would probably just elicit a snort. She felt something tug at her again; this time it felt more direct, more intrusive, and she pushed back against it.

__

“Not Xnanuchan alone,” he said, tilting his head to one side as if he listened to something she couldn’t hear.

__

She folded her own arms too. “Not got a clue what you’re talking about.”

__

“Hmmm. Your barriers are strong. They weren’t there before.”

__

“Before what?”

__

To her surprise he smiled at her. She liked his smile. Which was aggravating.

__

“A trade,” he suggested. “If you answer my questions, I will answer yours.”

__

“How will I know you’re not lying?”

__

He shrugged. “How will I know likewise?”

__

“Seems kind of pointless if we’re both lying.”

__

“Lies sometimes reveal as much as the truth.”

__

“Oh you’re one of those,” Elai said. “You like talking in truisms. Think it makes you sound profound, right?”

__

He looked startled but only for a second. “Have you practised discourtesy or does it come to you naturally?”

__

“Telling me I’m rude isn’t going to cover me in confusion.”

__

“As is demonstrated …”

__

“Beg pardon?”

__

That smile again. “Your tactics are interesting. They were even momentarily successful, I confess. But if you have no wish to trade questions, our time here is done. I have given you the message I came to deliver …”

__

She didn’t want him to go without gleaning something from him. Yes, she’d been trying to needle him - and had briefly succeeded - but he was right; lies could be as revealing as truth. “What questions do you want to trade?”

__

“Who are you?”

__

“Elai,” she said. “Elai Khatahdin.” It was true. Up to a point.

__

He bowed. “Thank you. Your turn.”

__

“You said I didn’t have barriers before. Before what?”

__

“Before the winds came. My turn. Where are you from?”

__

“Not sure.” That was the truth, too, but when he frowned, she relented and gave a little more. “I was probably born on the Azim Steppe. Where are you from?”

__

“Amaurot.”

__

“Never heard of it.”

__

“That does not surprise me. But I have never heard of the Azim Steppe either, so we are equally uninformed. Why are you here?”

__

“No idea.” He shook his head at her, and it was her turn to shrug. “What? I haven’t. I mean, I’m not actually here. I’m asleep. This is a dream. I don’t even know where here is. What’s your name?”

__

“You can call me Emet Selch.”

__

“I didn’t ask what I could call you, I asked your name.”

__

“I know. And I haven’t lied.”

__

She growled at him, and he gave her another smile. Then he walked forwards, out of the narrow entrance to the cave and into the ferocious winds. She rushed after him to look, but he was gone.

__

Elai woke up with a start, her heart pounding. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. For a moment or two it was hard to shake off the pull of the dream. Had he jumped from the cliff? Hidden himself somewhere? What the _fuck_ was he?

__

“So many questions,” she muttered, fumbling around on the nightstand for her book. As she picked it up with one hand, she gestured at the candle-stub with the other, using a sliver of her own aether to light it. She did it without thinking - hells, she hadn’t even known she _could_ think it - and then she stared at the tiny flame, feeling slightly sick.

__

“Ye gods, what a night. I need a drink. And a library. A big drink and an even bigger library.”

__

She wrote three things in her book. Xnanuchan. Winds. Emet Selch. She underlined Emet Selch. Then she blew out the candle, shaking her head at it as she did so, and lay back down.

__

Sleep did not come swiftly.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of head canon-ing here (is that even a word?!) I like the idea of this, I like all the foreshadowing, but I don't want it to get too unsubtle. But I think it's a bitter truth that she knew him long before the First, even if she didn't know who or what she knew. There will be more of this to come - not too much - but I need to work out how to weave it with the rest of her story.


	6. From a cold steel rail?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ruly Gentlemen rush to the rescue after disaster at the Waking Sands

It was raining in Eastern Thanalan.

In truth, it was raining so hard in eastern Thanalan, Kit could barely see the edges of the road. He was very wet and very miserable; his chocobo was very wet and very miserable; and whichever Ul’dahn quartermaster had named the nearest camp Drybone was a right joker. 

“Well, Giggy,” Kit said to his bird. “We can keep going and get soaked. Or we can stop and still get soaked but hunt down some wild goats while we’re doing it and make some coin. Which do you reckon?”

“Kweh …”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He reined up and was about to dismount when his linkpearl pinged. Staying in the saddle and hunching his shoulders so the rain didn’t cascade down his neck, he lifted up a hand to his ear. “What?”

“Unfriendly,” Kettle said.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m soaked through.”

“We ‘ave a situation.”

“Godric burned the acorn cookies again?”

“I am serious, Kit.” The Viera made ‘serious’ sound like it had a few more syllables than three. “Someone ‘as attacked the Waking Sands.”

“What the fuck …?”

“Just so. I do not ‘ave so many details except that there are many dead.”

“Elai?”

“The Crystal Bearer is alive, I believe.”

“Hang on a sec.” He tugged his chocobo over to the side of the road. “Where is she?”

“As Lily tells it, she ‘as fled to the church in Eastern Thanalan. I did not speak with Elai myself.”

“Saint Adama’s?”

“I am sorry?”

“The church, Kettle. Is it Saint Adama’s?”

“A moment.” He heard her muttering something about god-touched Eorzeans and their saints before she shouted, “Lily? Vata kirja?” followed by silence and then, “ Yes. Saint Adams.”

“Saint Adama,” Kit corrected automatically. “I’m only an hour or so’s ride from there, I’ll go find her.”

“Very well. Bring ‘er back to the Free Company ‘ouse.”

“If she’ll come,” he replied. “You know what she’s like. A thousand gil says she’ll fob me off with some excuse about not wanting to risk us getting involved.”

“I do not care,” Kettle said. He could imagine her standing up tall and straightening her shoulders; something he privately called her Group-Captain stance. “Tell ‘er I will come and fetch ‘er myself if necessary. She is safer ‘ere than in some undefended church out in the wilds.”

Switching off the linkpearl, he leaned forward and ruffled the bedraggled feathers on top of Giggy’s head and urged him forward into a canter. “Sorry, mate. No time for goats. We gotta hurry and find Elai before the bad guys do.”

Kit thought about trying to cut across country but then decided not. If they ran into an Amalj’aa scouting party, that would delay them even more than sticking to the roads. It was because of Amalj’aa attacks that he was in the area in the first place, on his way back from escorting a caravan down to Byregot’s Strike to drop off supplies. The caravan would be heading back in a few days with a shipment; Kit had planned to hang around and escort them since it paid well, but if his Free Company needed him, that came first.

He bent his head a little more, crouching over Giggy’s neck so that the rain didn’t lash him in the face. This part of Thanalan was never very colourful - all sand, and sand-coloured rocks, and rock-coloured scrub - but in the rain it was a grey melange of muddy road and mud-coloured sky. Depressing and cold and miserable. Hopefully all the Amalj’aa would be huddled up in their caves, praying to their primal for a gout of fire to warm them. He could do with some himself, his fingers were going numb holding onto the reins. Should have worn gloves, of course. But who thought of gloves in a bloody desert?

Kit shook his head and leaned forward, urging Giggy on a little faster. He could just about make out the faint blue light of the aetheryte at Drybone; the church was up the hill from there but not too far. He wasn’t much for praying - his ma always told him the gods only looked out for those who looked out for themselves - but he found himself willing Elai to be there, to be safe.

“Saint Adama,” he muttered as Giggy huffed up the hill. “No idea what you’re the saint of, but please, keep an eye on her.”

It was very quiet in the graveyard next to the church. Kit snorted at himself when he realised what a ridiculous thought that was, but it still made him uneasy. Then again, it _was_ still raining like it meant to fill up the gorge at Highbridge. 

He pulled up outside the doors and slid off Giggy’s back. The chocobo gave him a plaintive look - a where-the-hell-is-the-stable look - and edged as close to the wall as it could get. Kit gave it an apologetic pat and then hurried up the steps. Should he knock? Did folk knock on church doors? Churches weren’t really a Miqo’te thing; his people did their worshipping at night under the moon. He decided to knock - just in case - but not wait for an answer; this place really was out of the way and, whoever had attacked the Waking Sands, he doubted an old church would pose much of a problem for them. 

It took his eyes a few seconds to adapt to the dark inside, even though it wasn’t exactly bright sunshine out. When he could see again, he smiled carefully at the group of people staring back at him. They didn’t look very welcoming - to be fair, he _was_ dripping all over their floor - and none of them was Elai.

“Hey,” he said. “Umm …” Really should have thought about what he was going to say beforehand. “So I’m looking for a friend. Well, an associate really.” It would have been much better if Lily had come; everyone loved Lily soon as they saw her and never suspected her of foul play. “She’s a member of our Free Company, see? We heard shit had gone down …” He groaned inwardly, should he say ‘shit’ in a church? “Her name’s Elai. Elai Khatahdin. She said she was coming here …”

The man at the back, an older man with grey hair and a grey beard, folded his hands together. “There’s no one here of that name, my child.”

Kit gave them all a weak smile. “Oh? Are you sure?”

One of the women frowned. “Of course we’re sure. Be off with you.”

“Now then, Ilcum,” the man said. “No need for discourtesy.” He smiled back at Kit, but his eyes were still wary. “Perhaps your friend has taken shelter down at Camp Drybone? If I might suggest you look for her there ...?”

Kit would have bet his entire wage from the caravan escort job that they were lying, but he couldn’t fault them for protecting Elai, frustrating though it was. “Sure. If she does turn up here though, would you send someone to fetch me? My name’s Kit.” He winced, and then decided it was in a good cause. “Short for Kitten. Elai knows me.”

“Kitten because he’s too young to be let out by himself,” said a tired voice from the far end of the church. “It’s okay, Father Iliud, everyone. He really is a friend. Not a Garlean.”

Kit let out his breath in a sigh that mixed relief and concern in equal measure. “Elai? Thank the Twelve.”

She moved forward from the back of the church and whichever nook she’d been hiding in. He measured her with his eyes as she drew closer. She walked like someone weary to their soul, but he couldn’t see any injuries. Her hair was bundled up inside a cap, and the peak of it shaded her eyes, so it was hard to decipher her expression.

“Kit,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Kettle sent me. We … ah … we heard about …” He wrinkled his nose, not knowing what to say. “Are you …?”

She managed a smile of sorts. “I’m fine. Battered and bruised, but that was Titan’s doing. I wasn’t at the Sands when it was attacked, else there would be more dead Garleans. Was anyone from the Free Company there?”

Kit shook his head. “Not as far as I know. It was the Garleans then?"

“Yeah, it was. I had an Echo vision.” She swallowed and closed her eyes briefly. “Noraxia … Noraxia was still alive when I got there. When I tried to help, that’s when the vision took me. Troop of Garleans got inside, killed everyone who resisted, took the Scions prisoner.” She clenched her fists. “The leader was a woman. White armour. Vicious bitch.” She glanced over at the priest. “Begging your pardon, Father Iliud.”

“How in the seven hells did a Garlean troop get inside the Sands? I mean …” Kit shook his head again. “Didn’t anyone outside raise the alarm. What about all the guards at the outpost? There’s a freaking castrum a few malms away that they’re supposed to be watching.”

“No one saw anything.” Elai sat down on one of the benches and folded her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “There were a few folks standing outside when I got there, looking worried. They said they heard noises but ...”

“And they didn’t think to investigate?”

“They’re not soldiers, Kit. Merchants and fishermen. Just as well they didn’t go inside or we’d have even more dead.”

“None of this makes any sense,” he muttered. He sat down beside her. “You said they took the Scions prisoner? Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. I’m not any less confused than you are. No idea how they got in, no idea how they got out again. They took Minfilia and the others with them and killed everyone else.”

“Menphina have mercy.”

Elai sighed. “Bit late for that.” She bit her lip and glanced at the priest again. “Sorry, Father.”

“No need for apologies, child,” the priest replied. “You’re weary and heartsick. Tis hard not to blame the gods for our ills when they fall upon us from nowhere.”

“Do you feel up to ‘porting back with me to the house?” Kit asked. “If the Garleans are hunting for you, it’s safer there.”

Elai laid her head on her bent-up knees and looked at him. “You reckon?”

“They wouldn’t get through the gates at the Goblet.”

“No one thought they could get inside the Sands, but they managed it.”

“Aye, well …” Kit frowned.

One of the other men inside the church - a tall, well-built fellow in a hooded robe - caught hold of Father Illiud’s arm. “Are the … are the Garleans coming here?” He sounded almost panicked.

Father Iliud patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Marques. Elai won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Elai lifted up her head and smiled at Marques. “I’m going to go with Kit, so you don’t need to worry. The Garleans won’t come here if I’m not around.”

“But … but what about you? Didn’t they … they hurt your friends, didn’t they?”

“They did. But we’ll punish them for that.” She sounded like she was talking to a child. “There are lots of folks at the house, and they’re all strong adventurers like me and Kit; we’ll be fine. I don’t want to put you and Father Iliud and the others in any danger, Marques. Okay?”

The man glanced at the priest, who smiled and nodded.

“O … okay,” Marques stammered. “Be safe, Elai.”

“I will.” She stood up and gave him a hug, then nodded at Kit. The Miqo’te followed her outside.

So did Father Iliud. “Don’t mind Marques, his mind was damaged at Carteneau; whatever he endured there, he now sees danger and violence everywhere. The peace at the church is good for him, and he fears not the dead.”

“I’m sorry I had to disturb that peace,” Elai said.

“As I said, no need for apologies. This is a place of sanctuary, for you as much as anyone else. Anything we can do to help you, we do it gladly. Take care, both of you. I hope when we see you again, twill be in happier times.”

\------------

Elai had done her best to resist the lure of joining a Free Company.

Yeah, it meant people to help out with difficult jobs, but she was a lone wolf. Always had been. She only worked with Thancred because their skills matched. She didn’t like following orders - or giving them, if it came to it - and she found it hard to rely on other people. Not because she thought they’d let her down but because it implied a level of dependency that made her uncomfortable. After leaving Hingashi, after Carteneau, it was hard not to expect everyone to disappear on her sooner or later.

She’d let Kit and Lily talk her into joining the Ruly Gentlemen because it was almost impossible to say no to Lily. And because it annoyed Kettle. Kettle said Elai was a disruptive influence, and Elai was fine with that. Annoying Kettle was entertaining. She was not the least surprised, however, that Kettle sent Kit to extricate her from danger. Kettle might grind her teeth over Elai’s drinking and her refusal to do as she was told, but Kettle would never leave a company member in dire straits.

\------------

Kit teleported them straight to the house in the Goblet enclave. The ‘port was over in seconds, but it still left Elai feeling like a gigas had clubbed her over the head; she was tired and heartsick and the events of the day had drawn heavily on her reserves of aether. She grabbed hold of the aetheryte shard with one hand to stop herself from falling over, and Kit steadied her from the other side.

“Okay?” he said.

“Yeah. Just a bit drained.” She looked down at the sparkling turquoise crystal of the shard. “Hmmm. I wonder ...”

The Miqo’te tugged at her elbow. “Let’s get you inside.”

Elai resisted his tugging. “Suppose the Garleans ‘ported inside the Sands?”

Kit stared at her. “One, there isn’t an aetheryte - or even a shard - inside the Sands. Two, they’re Garleans. They can’t ‘port.”

“It would solve the mystery of how they got in, though.”

“Whilst creating two even bigger mysteries.”

“Yeah, I guess …”

“Come on, sweetheart. You need food and rest. We can worry about mysteries in the morning.”

She followed him around the corner of the house and towards the front door. “Just give me a bottle of brandy, and I’ll be fine.”

The house wasn’t a large one - not compared to some in the enclave - but it was bigger than it looked, tall and narrow with all kinds of rooms tucked away in higgledy-piggledy fashion here and there. Elai had her own chamber under the eaves, with a balcony overlooking the gorge, but she didn’t use it very often. She preferred the anonymity of inn rooms, and she hadn’t spent any time or money decorating the space or filling it with her own belongings. She didn’t collect objects any more than she collected people; really the only things she owned were her gear, her journal, and a few history books she’d picked up recently. There was a narrow cot under the window - one of the ones issued by the Immortal Flames for their recruits - a chamber pot, and a bedside table that held a candlestick. The books were in a pile on the floor.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Elai said. “Really, Lily, I don’t wanna.”

“You sound about six,” the Lalafell replied. “Archie’ll stay with you for cuddles if you like.”

The emerald carbuncle chirruped and twined itself round Elai’s ankles like a cat. She eyed it dubiously. The creature had a habit of bowling through the air at speed when it heard anyone mention its name, and she’d been ambushed several times previously. “I’d rather drink myself into a stupor please.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “How about a lovely warm bath? That might relax you?”

“Alcohol will relax me.”

“Okay, how about a bath and a glass of wine?”

Elai looked at her. Lily was a positive angel in appearance - all white-blonde curls and dimples and a giggle that chimed like silver bells - but she also had a mischievous streak as wide as the Rothlyt Sound. “Just one glass?”

“While you’re in the bath, definitely. Don’t want you drowning.”

“I can hold my booze.”

“I know you can, sweetie, but we’re supposed to be protecting you, not exposing you to new and different hazards. I have a bottle of white Ishgardian Givre that I’ve been saving for an emergency, and I’m prepared to share. With conditions.”

Elai folded her arms. It was very _very_ difficult to say no to Lily. “What conditions?”

“One glass in the bath like I said. And you let me add lavender oil to the bath water. And you eat a bowl of Godric’s leek and popoto soup once you get out of the bath. With toasty warm bread. If you do all that, I’ll give you the rest of the bottle.”

“Right …”

“Oh, and I get to wash your hair for you, and take away that filthy leather armour to get it cleaned.”

“You’re a hard woman, Lilani Lani.”

Lily smirked. “And you’re a push-over, Elai Khatahdin.”

“Just got to know the right buttons, Lily. I’ll do anything for a bottle of Ishgardian Givre.”

\------------

“‘E wants us to do _what_?” Kettle shrieked, hands on hips and a look of absolute disbelief on her face. “Is ‘e crazy? We should be looking for the Scions, not rushing off on some fool’s errand to Coerthas.”

“For once, I completely agree with you.” Elai nodded to Godric as he held up a jug of ale, and the Hrothgar refilled her mug. “But welcome to the world of Alphinaud Leveilleur, where only he knows the right thing to be done, and exactly how it can be best accomplished.”

Kettle snorted. “‘E is a child.”

“Ouch,” Kit said. “Let’s be fair now. He did find Cid Garlond. I know I’d never have suspected that fellow Marques was actually the Ironworks boss, and I talked to him only a few days ago.”

Kettle muttered venomously and at length in her own language.

Lily put down her fork and began feeding the carbuncle bits of her remaining pudding. Elai watched in fascination. Given that Archie was an arcane construct, it really shouldn’t have needed to eat and shouldn’t have a digestive system either, but it was aggressively fond of sweetmeats.

“I’m happy to go to Coerthas,” the Lalafell said. “You’ll need me anyway, I’ve been there before, know my way around the place.”

Kettle stopped muttering and frowned. “I did not know you went to Coerthas, Lilani.”

Lily licked her fingers - which made Elai shudder, just a little - and grinned. “Maps.”

“Maps?”

“Yeah, I make them for the assessors at Melvaan’s Gate. You know about that, Kettle. It’s a hobby of mine.”

“Ah yes but …”

“Two summers ago. You, Kit and Ardent went to Gyr Abania on some wild goose chase, and I went to Coerthas.”

“It wasn’t a wild goose chase,” Kit said. “Ardent was after news of his sister. I mean, yeah okay, we didn’t find any news, but we tried. I mean …”

“You just defined a wild goose chase, I think,” Godric told him. “Any more ale, anyone?”

Elai pushed her mug across the table as Kettle said, “This trip to Coerthas is a wild geese chase. For why does Alphinaud need an airship?”

“Best as I can gather,” Elai replied. “He wants me to fight Garuda.”

“With an airship?” Kit sounded confused.

“Apparently we need it to get to the primal. Don’t ask me for the details, it all got scientific. But Cid seemed to agree it was possible, whatever _it_ was.”

“This is foolishness,” Kettle declared. “All of it is foolishness. We should be finding where the Garleans took Minfilia and the others. At the very least we should track down what ‘as become of Y’shtola, Y’da and Thancred.”

Godric leaned back in his chair. “Well, the entire company doesn’t need to go to Coerthas. The rest of us can poke around and see what we can find out. I’ve got contacts in Wineport; they might have heard something, given that there’s a Garlean castrum just down the road.”

“You’ll need to be discreet,” Kit pointed out. “As far as I know, Elai’s connection with the Ruly Gentlemen isn’t widely known. Best it stays that way if the Garleans are looking for her.”

“You’ll need to be more than discreet,” Elai added. “Thancred’s one of the best sneak thieves I know, and it’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the star. No one’s seen or heard from him in days. I saw him in the South Shroud over a month ago; since then nothing. If they’ve gotten hold of Thancred, they’re damn good, and - no offence, Godric - but you stick out like a sore thumb. Hrothgar still aren’t that common in Eorzea."

“Don’t you fret, Miss Elai,” he told her. “I’ll ask my questions in Vylbrand on the lowdown. Like I said, I got my contacts there. Been teachin’ a few of the lads how to fight with a gun-blade, and it’s gotten Admiral Merlwyb right intrigued. She comes and takes tea with me after the lessons - tea with a splash o’grog o’course - and we talk about this and that.”

“Hidden talents, huh?” Kit said.

The Hrothgar grinned - a somewhat terrifying sight to witness - and shook out his brindled mane. “Some o’the ladies like their cats a touch more brawny, Kitten.”

Kit didn’t rise to the bait. “Merlwyb terrifies the charm out of my strut, Godric, so you’re welcome to her. If she can shed any light on the missing scions, all the better."

“Very well then.” Kettle clapped her hands as if she expected everyone to jump to attention. “Kit, Lily and I will accompany Elai to Coerthas to look for this air thing …”

“Ship,” Kit interjected. “Air ship.”

Kettle scowled at him. “The rest of you will seek discreetly for news of the missing ones. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded. 

Even Elai.

\------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have Elai's story involve some other original characters so I hope you enjoyed your first taste of the Ruly Gentlemen (as opposed to Unruly ofc!) Some of them are - loosely - based on the characters of friends; others are entirely made up. Their stories may develop and entwine with Elai's as this continues. Because I really am making it up as I go along lol. Thanks for all the kudos and please do continue to comment <3


	7. A smile from a veil?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elai arrives in Camp Dragonhead.

Elai noticed the guards staring as she and the others rode down the hill towards Whitebrim keep. When she turned right, towards them and up the ramp to the entrance, instead of left and away, they stepped forward. Their hands went automatically to their lances; the pair at the front actually dropped into fighting stances, spears angled across their bodies.

She pulled on the reins of her hired chocobo. “Well you’re a friendly lot. Is this how you always greet travellers?”

“Be gone, fiend,” snarled the first of them. “Your kind is unwelcome in Ishgard.”

Elai let the reins go slack as she folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. “My kind?”

“Filthy dragonkin. Be gone, I say. Else your life is forfeit, aye, and that of your companions too.”

She stared at the one who’d spoken, and there must have been something in her eyes that intimidated him because he took a tiny step backwards. She contemplated the outcome if she lost her temper. A keep full of Ishgardians versus the four of them. Not great odds.

“Sellswords,” another guard sneered, the one at the back and farthest away. “Adventurers.” He made it sound like the lowest form of life in existence. Except dragons, of course, given his origins. The guard who’d backed off a little appeared to win a portion of his courage back. “Filthy unbelieving scum. Why don’t you go to Dragonhead, the Fortemps bastard will welcome you with open arms.”

“Not the only thing he’ll have opened,” one of the others scoffed. There was a ripple of lewd laughter.

Lily, who was riding pillion with Kit, let out a piercing whistle, and Archie’s head popped up from behind a snow-covered outcrop. When it saw the drawn spears and threatening postures, it growled, leapt into the air with a ripple of magick-touched aether, and bounded towards the astonished men.

“Blessed Halone,” one of them gasped and made the sign to ward off evil.

“Down, Archie,” Lily barked, and the carbuncle slowed. It lashed its tail and continued to growl but stayed where it was. Its eyes gleamed an unearthly red.

“Saint Daniffen preserve us,” another guard muttered. “Tis a demon.”

“We should go,” Kit said quietly into the silence that followed. “Thank you for your _kindness_, gentlemen, Rest assured we’ll not forget it.” He turned his chocobo back up the hill; after a few steps, Lily clicked her fingers, and the carbuncle growled one last time and then bounded after her.

“Elai?” Kit called. It sounded like a question, but it managed to be implacable just the same.

She looked down at the guards and gave them a thin-lipped smile. “I don’t much care for being insulted, gentlemen. But in the interests of _neighbourliness_ I’ll let it slide. This time. It might be wise to pray that my path doesn’t lead this way again however.”

As she rode back up the hill, the snow blowing into her face, she could feel their eyes on her back. She knew they’d watch until she was out of sight. “They were lovely, weren’t they? So charming.”

“I did warn Alphinaud,” Lily said as they toiled up the hill. “Folks round here have been fighting dragons for hundreds of years; it’s not entirely surprising they assume the worst when they see you, since I doubt very much they’ve met many Au Ra.” 

Kettle muttered a string of incomprehensible expletives, the only recognisable words amongst them being ‘Alphinaud’ and ‘Ishgard’.

“I’m not a dragon,” Elai said, glancing at the Viera. “Just in case anyone was wondering. If I was a dragon, I reckon I’d be much, much warmer. And I definitely preferred this place before the Calamity.”

“I’m sure the Ishgardians did too,” Lily replied dryly.

Elai twisted in the saddle to look at her. She was riding behind Kit as she usually did, and his body shielded her from the worst of the billowing snow. She was also dressed more fittingly for the atrocious weather in a fur-lined and hooded cloak. But she was the only one of them who’d braved the Coerthan perma-winter before. She’d warned all of them to dress appropriately, but Elai had taken that to mean a pair of gloves and maybe a scarf. A bedraggled leather coat and kecks really didn’t do the job.

Snow was blowing from the heavy drifts on either side of the road, and the north-eastern wind had a bite to it that foretold trouble. The afternoon sky was leaden with clouds, clouds tinted an ominous copper that made Elai shiver just to look at them. The hawks and other birds that wandered there earlier had long since gone, seeking shelter like sensible souls. It was beautiful - if she disregarded the peril - in a wild, bleak, stirring kind of way. But right then she would happily have exchanged it for the sight of lights and a creaking inn sign.

“This Fortemps bastard, Lily?” Kit said. “Know anything about him?”

“He sounds unpleasant,” Kettle added.

“On the contrary,” Lily replied. The wind tugged at her words and tried to hurl them away; Elai reined up her chocobo and dropped back a little so she could listen. “He’s a proper gentleman, if somewhat eccentric. Lord Haurchefant Greystone, the commander of Camp Dragonhead. If you recall, Lord Francel suggested we seek him out, before Elai decided on our … detour to Whitebrim.”

“I just thought we might learn something useful.” Elai wanted to defend herself but knew Lily had the right of it. “My apologies.”

“Well we did learn something useful,” Kit said. “We learned the Ishgardian rank and file don’t like Au Ra.”

“Or adventurers,” said Kettle. “Is our welcome at this Camp Dragon ‘ead likely to be any friendlier? I am thinking we should return to Ul’dah and let Alphinaud hunt for ‘is air thing.”

“Air-ship,” Kit interjected.

“Yes, yes. ‘E is an Elezen, may’ap they will treat ‘im more kindly.”

“Lord Haurchefant has a decided … partiality … for adventurers,” Lily said.

Elai frowned at her. Kettle and Kit looked at each other.

“Define partiality,” Kit said.

Lily started laughing. “Oh, your faces. That was beautiful.” She beamed at them. “I’m not implying he’s any kind of saint, of course. But if he bedded as many as rumour says, there would be queues all the way to the Observatorium. He is … disregarded by most of his peers because of his birth; when they call him the Fortemps bastard, they’re speaking the literal truth. But his men adore him and - from what I can gather - he’s well thought of by other members of House Fortemps. He’s certainly a canny leader; opening the aetheryte and the barracks to adventurers means he has extra defenders when the dragons attack - they harry the Steel Vigil almost daily - and he also has grateful folks happy to hunt a few karakul for meat and wool or chop some spruce logs for firewood.”

“Seems fair enough,” Kit said. “Well, maybe not the dragon-fighting part.” He looked up at the sky. “I didn’t realise they came this far south. Should we be nervous?”

“And how much farther to the camp?” Elai croaked, wrapping her arms even tighter around herself. “If I had bollocks, I’d be freezing them off right now.”

The Lalafell wrinkled her nose. “I did tell you to get better gear.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Maybe you’ll listen next time?”

Elai grinned and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Lily rolled her eyes.

\------------

Elai was intrigued to meet Lily’s lordling. A man who favoured incomers in a land notorious for its inhospitality was a marvel. Given that all the Ishgardians she’d encountered so far had displayed a willingness - more or less - to put her to the sword, she was very interested to discover why this Haurchefant was so different. She followed Lily across the courtyard at Dragonhead with some alacrity, and it wasn’t just prompted by the snow and bitter winds.

A young man - a very young man, barely past the Elezen growth-spurt that betokened maturity - came out of the main keep as they crossed towards it. He looked at them as they approached and nodded, then his eyes narrowed a little as he saw Lily, and he smiled widely. “Lady Lilani. It’s been far too long. How goes the map-making?”

Lily dropped him a little curtsey, and Elai felt a pang of disappointment. It made her shake her head at herself for her own foolishness. The young lord was well-enough but not the fairy tale hero she’d been half hoping for. He was little more than a boy - which probably explained his fascination with adventurers, in and of itself - and, though he wasn’t ill-favoured, he wasn’t the irresistible charmer Lily’s words had conjured.

The Lalafell smiled. “I made sure to bring my latest with me when I knew we were visiting Coerthas. These are my companions, Ser Corentiaux. We have business with his lordship if we may make so bold as to interrupt him?”

The youngster bowed. “Of course. I venture to say he would send me on a week-long patrol in an icy blizzard if I told you otherwise.”

Elai widened her eyes. So, not his lordship then. A knight, yes, well-armoured and well-armed. And nodding in welcome at all of them, even her. He didn’t falter in the slightest when he saw her, which argued in favour of Lily’s tale that all adventurers found a place in Dragonhead. Ser Corentiaux had clearly seen at least one other Au Ra in his twenty or so summers.

She followed the knight and her friends into the main keep. At first glance it was filled with noisy folk about various tasks, although Elai soon realised there weren’t so many of them, and most of the noise was coming from a small group near the fire who were doing squats without their shirts on. She shivered in sympathy; it was warmer inside than outside, but she still wouldn’t have called it _warm_.

At the back of the chamber, past the great hearth - where a fire burned somewhat ineffectively - and the map-table that took up a large part of the remaining space, there stood a desk. It was big and solid and covered in scrolls and piles of paper. A man sat in the towering chair behind it, frowning at the paperwork in front of him. All Elai could see was unruly silver-blue hair - it looked like someone had taken scissors to it in places, and he’d also been running his hands through it wildly in the last few minutes - and pale skin. Then he looked up and saw Lily, and his smile was like the sun rising over the steep, snow-covered mountains. Elai had to blink and take a careful breath and look at him again.

“Welcome, my friend,” he declared, beaming at her. She was beaming back. Lily was good at beaming - it was a special talent and made folks feel happy - but the lord was at least her equal in that regard. He seemed genuinely pleased at her return and immediately pushed aside his paperwork to stand up and move around the desk to greet her. And he greeted her in very courtly fashion, taking her hand and bowing low to raise it to his lips.

Lily giggled and blushed. “Lord Haurchefant, please may I introduce my friends? This is Kettle, our captain. I think I spoke of her to you last time I was here.”

The lord was tall, even for an Elezen - taller than Kettle - and when he bowed over her hand with the same courtly elegance he’d given Lily, she blushed. Elai had never ever seen Kettle blush before.

“It’s my very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Kettle. A most unusual name. It’s Vieran, I presume?”

Kettle cleared her throat. “My name … my name is Kjietl, my lord. Is simply that these savages missay it always.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled at her. “Key-et-ill? Is that acceptable.”

She blushed again. It was very entertaining. “You can call me Kettle, my lord. I am accustomed now.”

“Then you must call me Haurchefant.”

“I … ah … ‘Aurchefant?”

He grinned. “Aurchefant and Kettle. A pair indeed.”

“This is Kit,” Lily continued, gesturing at the Miqo’te. “He’s our tank. That is to say … I mean …”

Haurchefant laughed. “I know the terminology. You forget, Dragonhead is full of adventurers much of the time. Welcome, Kit, a pleasure to meet you. And another unusual name also. I see you favour the great axe over a sword and shield? Perhaps we could have a practise bout some time?”

Kit nodded, but Elai noticed he kept his arms folded, as if he was worried Haurchefant might try to kiss his hand too. Kit also didn’t try to explain where _his_ name had come from. 

“And this is Elai,” Lily finished. “Be careful. She bites.”

Elai clasped her arms behind her back just in case. She wasn’t entirely sure if she minded the hand-kissing or not, and that was enough to make her nervous. “Only if I’m provoked.”

His lordship smiled at her as if she’d made him very, very happy. Just by existing presumably. She found it strange but disconcertingly attractive. “I shall do my utmost not to provoke you then, Miss Elai.”

“Just Elai.”

“The ‘Miss’ is provoking?”

“A little.”

“Should I make a list?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I believe you’re doing this on purpose, Lord Haurchefant.”

He grinned, his pale blue-silver eyes glinting with mischief. It was really quite difficult not to grin back. “I _have_ been called the most irritating man in existence, it is true.”

“It’s probably wise not to irritate those who mislike you.”

The mischief in his eyes seemed like to brim over. “Oh no. That was my friends.”

\------------

The barracks at Dragonhead were commodious and almost warm, but they were still a barracks, which meant communal sleeping spaces, which Elai loathed above all things. She was afraid to sleep in case her dreams came, and she betrayed herself by calling out or weeping. She’d come to terms with the often nightly visitations - a few drinks meant that she could relax and not dread the touch of their presence - but she’d no wish to share them with anyone. Certainly not unknown travellers, nor yet even the members of the Ruly Gentlemen.

She was in the habit therefore, once the Keep quietened, of stealing the blankets and pillow from her bed and finding a cupboard where she could stow herself for the night. There were several on the back stairs where the servants kept their cleaning tools; Elai would line up the buckets in the passageway outside and then settle herself down, wedged up against the door so that no one could burst in on her. She’d heard the servants discussing the mystery of the haunted buckets, but so far no one had shown a need to investigate. Hopefully she wouldn’t be in Dragonhead much longer; since she’d managed to prove Lord Francel’s innocence a couple of days before, her search for the airship had begun to proceed far more speedily.

It wasn’t the most comfortable of resting places, however, being cramped and cold and unyielding. So she would go and sit on the battlements sometimes, wrapped in her blankets, her flask filled with wine from his lordship’s very generous dinner table. She’d purchased more weather-appropriate gear from one of the camp merchants; between that and the wine, she didn’t feel so hard done by. When her eyes started to feel heavy, she’d whisk herself off to her cupboard. No one had commented yet on her disappearances, so she was hopeful none of them had noticed. Since her sleep was neither restful nor long, she was generally back in her cot before any of them woke.

It was upon the battlements, on a clear night when even Elai had started to think the wine wouldn’t serve to warm her, that Lord Haurchefant found her.

She didn’t notice him at first. She was watching the stars, so bright at that time that they silvered the snow almost like moonlight. The night was very still - no wind - and the sky like deep dark velvet under a scattering of diamonds.

“Tis lovely, is it not?” a voice said, making her jump and squeak.

When she saw who had spoken, she very much regretted the squeak. “My lord. You startled me.”

“My apologies. It seemed remiss of me to leave so fair a lady to drink alone, especially on such a night as this.”

Elai grimaced. “If you mean to burden me with extravagant compliments, I prefer my own company.”

“I see.”

She waited for more, but he didn’t continue. When she looked at him, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Yes,” she said. “I quite see why your friends call you exasperating.”

“I believe it was irritating, but exasperating serves.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Being exasperating?”

“Yes,” she said again, wanting very much not to laugh.

“I suppose I must although, in my defence, it isn’t something I do on purpose. Not all the time, at any rate. May I join you, Elai? I’ve brought cushions to make the cold stone more comfortable, warmer blankets, and a bottle of arakh to chase away the frost.”

Elai moved over so that he could set down his burdens. “Arakh?”

He put two cushions in place and sat down on the first, handing her a fur-lined blanket. “Ah, you’ve not tried it before?”

She settled down next to him. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It’s an … Ishgardian refinement of a far eastern wine called kumis.”

“I’ve heard of kumis.”

He glanced at her horns. “I thought you might.”

“It’s fermented dzo milk.”

Haurchefant rearranged himself on his cushion, lounging back against the wall. He produced two small glasses from his pockets and uncorked the bottle of arakh. “I understand this fermented milk is then distilled in Hingashi and turned into a kind of brandy.”

“Yes,” Elai agreed. She, too, leaned back against the wall. Her shoulder brushed against his. “I was too young to drink the brandy, though. According to Master Ayahe.”

“Did you listen?”

“I had little reason not to, not then.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t require a reason,” she replied. “How does this brandy come to be in Ishgard, my lord? You mentioned further refinement.”

He poured a glass and lifted it up. In the faint starlight it glowed cloudy white. “Ah yes. When it reaches us, we decant it into casks and bury the casks in the snow. Hardly scientific but very effective. The liquid that doesn’t freeze is thus twice distilled and very potent.”

Elai eyed the glass with interest. “It must hit like a behemoth.”

Haurchefant’s eyes were merry. “Indeed.”

He held out the glass to her, and she took it. When she lifted it up and sniffed, she couldn’t smell anything except the very faintest hint of something burned and yet seductive.

“If I die …” she said.

“I’ll bury you up at Providence Point and plant a cypress tree over your grave.”

“I think I’d rather you burned me.”

“Very well.”

“And threw a party?”

He inclined his head, grinning, and she laughed. She threw back her head and downed the arakh in one motion. It slid down her throat quietly, a sleeping monster, and then it roared into life.

Elai gasped. Her eyes watered.

“Oh … my …” she said weakly when she was finally able to speak.

His lordship was laughing, and his eyes were full of mischief but also warmth that she could feel down to her toes. Although that was, perhaps, the arakh.

“Your turn,” she declared.

He looked solemn and poured out his own serving with due ceremony. Then he tossed it back as she had, and seized her hand, and gasped as she had. His eyes watered also, and he blinked away the tears.

“So tell me,” she said. “I’d understood that Ishgard didn’t welcome incomers and yet it serves this devilish drink from across the seas? Or is it simply that the interment in the snow makes it Ishgardian.”

He laughed again, and she wasn’t sure if the tears in his eyes were from the laughter or the arakh. “Ah no, you have the right of it. We’re forbidden anything not born and bred in Ishgard.” His inflection made the sentence cover all kinds of eventualities, and she bit her lip to keep from encouraging him with more laughter. “I have a dear friend who has … connections … in Hingashi; it is he who fetches the brandy across the sea, and my folks here in Dragonhead who … refine it further.”

“Lord Hauchefant.” Elai lowered her voice dramatically. “Are you confessing that you _smuggle_ liquor into Ishgard and then compound your sin by illegally refining it into that _beast_ of a drink?”

He half-closed his eyes in what was clearly fake penitence. His lashes fell like shadows against his pale skin. “I believe I am.”

“Whatever would your countrymen say?”

“Oh my countrymen know very well the stuff is smuggled, though they know not how or by whom. They pay vast sums for a single bottle so that they can brandish it at their exclusive parties and seem bold and daring. It is also said to enhance … performance …” His eyes danced. “Albeit briefly, I would warrant.”

“It entertains you, doesn’t it? Their hypocrisy?”

“It does.”

“You dislike them, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Most of them. Yes, I do. Most of them. I do what I can for those I don’t dislike. The money from the arakh goes to my friend’s sister; their family has fallen on hard times of late. Laniaitte is sensible and doesn’t ask where the money comes from.” He smiled at her. “Another drink?”

Elai held up her glass.

\------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a biggy for me. Haurchefant was my favourite character for a VERY long time. I really hope I've managed to recreate the warmth he made Elai feel as well as her perception of his wicked sense of mischief and humour. Please leave kudos if you like the chapter and feel free to comment, your encouragement is the thing I crave ^^


	8. Do you think you can tell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garleans, Allagans, and Lord Haurchefant Greystone

Elai crouched down in the entrance to the culvert, catching her breath for a moment while she eyed up the scramble into the storm drain. The water in the steep-sided ditch was freezing cold and smelled foul, but she ignored it; she was more concerned to check the tangled roots hid her from sight. Neither the guards on the castrum towers or the various predatory creatures roaming the Tangle seemed like to spot her, especially since she was doing her _very_ best not to be seen. It had been a long time since she truly used the skills she learned in Hingashi.

For once she was grateful for the marvels of Garlean engineering. The five-fulm-long tubes of steel that made up the storm drain were almost perfectly smooth, and the joints where they’d been welded together were beautifully crafted. No sharp edges to catch her clothing. She’d dressed for the night’s work in a facsimile of shinobi gear, painstakingly made over the long months since Carteneau; it fitted slick and close like a second skin. She crafted the gear, not because she needed it – indeed she never expected to wear it – but because it offered another distraction from long nights when she dared not sleep.

The entrance to the drain was covered with a metal grille welded to the pipe, but she was prepared for that. Metal cutters made short work of the mesh, and she peeled it back to crawl inside. She regarded the whole exercise as something of a test; if she could safely infiltrate the castrum and find the Scions, she’d consider it a success. No doubt Y’shtola would scold her for taking risks - and Y’da would sulk because she hadn’t been included - but Elai regarded this as the swiftest option to determine the Scions’ whereabouts. If they weren’t in Castrum Centri, the investigators could turn their attention elsewhere.

She wriggled past the small opening, wedging her booted feet on either side of the drain. She’d chosen her footwear as carefully as the rest of her gear, knowing she’d be doing a lot of climbing; they fit tight to her knees and had thick rubber soles that helped her grip the slippery walls of the drain. Thankfully the metal had been treated - there wasn’t any foul-smelling greenery growing on the sides despite the water trickling down - but it was still a struggle to edge her way up the slope. Once she got further in, it grew very dark and very warm. Even breathing was an effort. At two points there was a change of angle; not a big change but enough to make upward progress even more challenging, especially as it was vital not to make any noise. She was close to the top now; if she slipped and fell, it would be disastrous. But she didn’t think about falling. She’d spent hours chasing her classmates up and down the walls of Kugane Palace, or being chased by them, and the storm drain was easy in comparison.

When she reached the top, there was another metal grate; this one was hinged so the guards could clear away any debris. She expected it to open into an external cargo bay; the Garleans always built their castrums on the same pattern and, after all the sneaking around she’d done with Thancred, Elai was an expert. She levered the grate from below as carefully and quietly as she could. It landed on the walkway with a metallic clunk that made her hold her breath, and she looked up, but all she could see was the clouded dark of the sky. Every few seconds one of the searchlights strafed across, but nothing else moved. There was no noise. She pulled herself up onto the rim of the hatchway, ready to duck back down if necessary, but the night stayed quiet and still.

The area consisted of a series of cargo bays that opened out onto a central thoroughfare. To the far left was an open area where supplies were loaded and unloaded; to the right was a tall cermet wall bisected by the main gate into the fortress. The cargo bays were full of metal crates and cartons, some of them huge; the loading area held transporters; and magitek patrolled the entire space. Elai slunk towards the leftmost wall, keeping low to the ground and staying in the darker shadows. Once she reached the outer edge, she swung herself up – very, very quietly – on top of one of the containers and looked about again.

There was a single magitek stalking up and down the central road. It was hard to tell from that distance, but she thought it was a Vanguard; she could just about make out the twin cermet drills. Fortunately it was far enough away, down the loading bay, that it hadn't heard the noise of the hatch opening. She couldn’t see any other guards; she knew there would be some but they would mostly be by the gates and on the towers, and she intended to avoid them by using the ducts which circulated air and heat around the complex. But first she had to find an outlet.

She kept to the far left of the cargo bays, drifting along between the containers like a quiet shadow, and up and over the partitions between them. She stopped every few steps to scope the area. The magitek’s path up and down the main walkway seemed to follow a predictable pattern. In the loading area it would make a wide, anticlockwise loop and head back up to the main gate beyond the cargo bays, keeping left the whole time. Once it reached the gate it would turn and come back, still keeping to the left, and start the pattern over again. The whole circuit took about a sixth of a bell.

It took her some time to make her way to the main gate out of the storage facility. She had to go over the partitions instead of around to stay out of the searchlights. And every time she stepped down onto the walkways – even though it was only for a heartbeat as she moved swiftly across to the next – she could feel the surge of tension knot her muscles. It was almost a surprise to find herself close to the main gate.

Elai bit her lip and moved into the shadows, away to the left, up against the right-angle where the inner wall met the one that bisected the castrum. She ran her fingers over the metal and cermet panels. Every few feet they were bolted together; the bolts were almost – but not quite – flush to the surface. But, compared to the miniscule cracks in the smoothed stone of Kugane Palace, they looked to her like steps. It took mere seconds to reach the apex of the wall, but she was careful to stay within the shadow of the taller inner fortification. From there she could see most of the parade ground beyond; the main headquarters building and gatehouse; the barracks; and the bunker where they housed the cells. The strafing searchlights were mostly located on the roof-top of the headquarters, although there were two smaller ones in the twin towers of the gatehouse. The parade ground itself was only dimly lit. The sentries patrolled at intervals but they weren’t looking up; she’d learned early in her career that people seldom looked up. Or down for that matter. It made the life of a rogue much easier. She settled in her little corner to watch as the searchlights moved around, waiting for one to reveal a hatch into the ducting. She knew where it would be, close to the pumps and other machinery for the castrum’s heating and water.

Once she had her target, it was merely a matter of minutes before she drifted underneath it, another shadow in the shadows. Again she hid in an intersection of walls and pipework until the lights moved on, and she slid open the repair hatch to disappear inside. For all their technological superiority, the Garleans were as vulnerable as anyone to a good thief; it never seemed to occur to them that lights and bullets weren’t protection enough. Against a frontal assault, sure, but not against sneakery.

It was eerily quiet inside the complex, apart from a faint humming noise, like a distant but persistent swarm of insects. Elai knew it was the machinery for the pumps that circulated fresh air around the lower levels, although it didn’t prevent her glancing over her shoulder every few minutes in case mechanical hornets were bearing down on her. Mechanical hornets were the least of the torments she expected from the Garleans.

The cells would be on the lower level and to the rear. The rest of that level would be the machine rooms and laboratories. There would be guards on the doors down and also on the doors into the prison area. She needed to move quietly therefore - very quietly - and also slowly because the duct system was absolutely not designed for even small and dainty Auri females to slide through.

Every twenty fulms or so there was another repair hatch. Each time she came to one, she stopped. Rested. Listened. She heard nothing except her own heartbeat and the distant hum of the pumps. After an hour or so, she reached a junction where the pipes arc-ed left and right and also down. Bracing herself carefully with her feet and hands, she scaled the downward pipe one limb at a time.

“What was that?” A male voice. Close by. Elai froze.

“You’re hearin’ things, mate. That run in with the eft’s left you nervy as hell. Let’s go back and have another game.”

The voice moved away. “If the Prius catches us playin’ cards, she’ll ‘ave our balls for breakfast.”

“Nah,” the other replied, also moving away. “She’s fast asleep. And I won’t tell if you don’t. It’s two bells til shift change, we ain’t got nothin’ to worry for. We could go mess around with that pretty blonde in the first cell, no one be any the wiser.”

Elai held her breath and listened hard. There was a whoosh as a mechanical door opened and then the second voice, even further away, called. “Hey, darlin’. Fancy some fun with us? Tis a cold night, but we’ll soon warm you up.”

Tataru’s shrill voice echoed through the piping. “Leave her alone, you filthy pigs.”

Elai heard Minfilia, low but clear. “I doubt Tribunus sas Junius would be very happy to learn her underlings had raped me.”

“Yeah, listen to her,” the first guard said. “The prisoners belong to the Tribunus. Mess with Madam Livia’s pets, and she’ll mince your balls before she eats ‘em and then she’ll gut you. They say the Legatus himself sent Livia down to Vesper Bay to kidnap ‘em; she ain’t gonna lie down and ignore it if you start anything.”

Elai closed her eyes and let out a breath very slowly. 

“Fucking officers,” the second guard cursed. “Meh, you’re right.” She heard the door close again. “Let’s go back to the guard-room and start another game.”

She waited until she couldn’t hear their voices at all and then began to climb back up the pipe. She was back up on the ground level, making her way carefully and slowly - more carefully and slowly than before since she was tired now - towards the exit hatch, when something caught her attention. She didn’t know what exactly - she hadn’t registered any sound, not consciously - but she felt the sudden need to stop and look around. Since her Echo acted like a sixth sense a lot of the time, she was accustomed to not ignoring it. There was an exit hatch right opposite; she looked at it for a moment or two and shook her head. Opening it was a stupid idea. Really _really_ stupid. But the urge to do so was almost overpowering. She pressed herself up against the panel and listened hard; either the room on the other side was empty or the person inside knew she was there and was holding their breath. Her physical senses told her there was no one there; her aetheric senses screamed at her to open the panel and take a look; common sense insisted she was completely crazy.

She poked the panel gently with one finger, and it swung open. Sheer horror froze her in place. But nobody called out or rushed to investigate.

She leaned forward carefully to take a look.

The room below looked like an office or study; there was a large, heavy, old-fashioned wooden desk in the centre that sat very incongruously amongst the Garlean metal and machinery. The chair behind it was also of heavy wood, sumptuously carved, and there were a couple of matching bookshelves that appeared to contain actual books and scrolls.

Biting her lip, Elai dropped down onto the floor, half-expecting an alarm to sound. Everything about this screamed trap, and yet her Echo disagreed vehemently. She scanned the books and scrolls quickly and found them to be a very eclectic mix. The ones on Allagan history might have been expected, those on herbalism and surgical techniques less so.

There was a small carved chest on the desk that wasn’t locked; when she opened it, she found a tomestone reader similar to the ones the Ironworks made. This one was very ornate; covered in heavy gilding and an excessive amount of curlicues. She depressed the switch on the side panel, and it turned on, making her jump and look quickly over her shoulder.

“Nophica’s tits,” she muttered. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or her Echo. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

There were several piles of tomestones on the shelves. Allagan tomestones. Impossible to resist. She couldn’t take them with her, or the books, or the antique reader, because she had nowhere to put them. Besides that, stealing them would make it plain someone had been there, and the Garleans were bound to move the prisoners then. But her Echo really didn’t want her to ignore the bounty of knowledge in front of her.

She crouched down behind the task and began sliding each tomestone into the reader, one after another. Just a quick glance, to make sure there was nothing important. When she found the one her Echo wanted, she could pocket just that one. Hopefully it would be weeks before anyone noticed it was missing. Hopefully.

“Nophica’s tits,” she muttered again.

She picked up one that looked identical to all the others, and pain crashed into her like a backhander from a behemoth.

# \------------

Elai’s vision blurred and shattered, then realigned itself: she was no longer in the small, dark study in Castrum Centri but standing inside a great cavernous space she’d never seen before. It was full of machines that at first she took to be Garlean; lots of achromatic metal, and wiring, and brightly lit panels. She was on some kind of viewing platform amongst a crowd of other people; they were all talking in excited voices, pointing and exclaiming over something she couldn’t see. 

She turned to look and exhaled in a hiss of shock and surprise.

Behind her – so immeasurably vast that she could only see its head and part of its body – was a dragon. It seemed to be held in some sort of stasis; she could see countless wires leading in and out of its form, and there were great beams of energy focused on it from devices affixed to the walls and ceiling of the space. She wondered if she was somewhere in Ishgard, but the technology looked far too advanced to be Ishgardian. When she looked down at herself, the scales on her arms and hands had vanished, and she was wearing a great many more bracelets and other jewels than was her custom. She was dressed in a long red silken shift that was looped about with decorations of fine gold chains.

Elai froze, realising that the other people in the vast space could probably see her, and she held her breath.

“ … don’t care what the Aetherium says, he’s gone too far this time.”

“I’d keep your voice down if I were you, Kishan.”

Elai glanced carefully to her left. The two speakers were close to her - her silk gown almost brushed against the robe of the closest - but they didn’t seem to be paying her any attention.

The man called Kishan – an older Midlander in plain robes – shook his head. “It’s not like my views aren’t known. Amon’s always been prone to meddling with the forbidden. But this …” He gestured at the giant, stasis-held, dragon. “In the name of all that we hold dear, what purpose does this serve?”

“The Emperor announced that the mechanical moon will increase our energy production by an unprecedented factor.”

“Energy for what, exactly? For blowing ourselves up? And what when the safety protocols fail, as they always do, we both know that full well. What then? Bahamut escapes from its prison and rampages across our world?”

When she heard the name Bahamut, she stiffened even further and turned to stare again at the vast bulk of the dragon. Not Ishgard then, but Allag. Her Echo had taken her back thousands of years to the height of the ancient empire.

“Are you impressed, your Highness?” asked a voice to her right. “Or is it concern I see upon your face? You seem somewhat ...perturbed by the sight before you.”

She turned, trying to think of some throwaway pleasantry, only to stare at the man standing beside her. He was looking at the array of technological marvels in front of them, then his golden eyes shifted to her, and he inclined his head, as if inviting her comments.

“Emet Selch …” she said.

His eyes narrowed. 

Elai gave him an apologetic smile. “Yes, hello, me again …”

He took hold of her arm. “You look a little unwell, your Highness. Tis very warm in here; besides we should go in search of a little fresh air?”

She let him tow her through the throngs of people, battling not to blurt out the myriad questions jostling around in her head. To be fair, he probably didn’t know any more than she did. He looked more or less the same as the last time, certainly no older, although his clothes were very different. As were hers. She was certain she wasn’t Xnanuchan this time; her skin was paler, honey instead of mahogany, and the language was different. Also she was taller. Taller than Xnanuchan and taller than Elai. It made walking difficult and strange, as if she was wearing a pair of shoes that were both too small and too big simultaneously. She was glad of Emet Selch’s hand under her elbow. She was glad he was there altogether, in fact; for some reason his presence made her feel less intimidated by her situation.

Once they left the viewing platform the thronging crowds grew less, although there were still people moving back and forth along the corridor. Emet Selch led her some distance down the hallways without saying anything; she kept glancing at him, and his face looked grim, his mouth tight. Clearly he wasn’t anymore thrilled than she was about the games her Echo was playing. Was he an Echo user too? Perhaps, although _his_ appearance hadn’t changed.

They came to a metal door which opened as they approached. It led out onto an open platform that looked out over buildings and towers and gardens, all around a large and rather beautiful lake. The tallest tower was several malms distant but its scintillant spire pierced the clouds and disappeared. Elai breathed out in awe, and then she noticed the platform they stood on had no barrier. She pulled herself free of Emet Selch’s hold.

“That’s really not safe,” she scolded, very aware of how high up they were.

Her companion sauntered closer to the edge and smirked at her, and she remembered how he’d disappeared off the cliff edge last time. “You have a problem with heights?”

“I have a problem with falling off them, yeah.”

“But you’re not wearing your own body, Elai Khatahdin.”

She frowned at him. “I doubt her Highness - whoever she is - would be very pleased if I failed to look after it properly.”

“How would she know?”

“You _want_ me to kill her?”

He wrinkled his nose, as if he really did have to ponder the question somewhat, and then he smiled. “No. I am fond of her, I confess. I wasn’t expecting you to pop up, however, although given your habit of doing so, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised …”

“I’d hardly call twice a habit,” Elai said.

Emet Selch narrowed his eyes. “I don’t wish to flatter you by appearing to count, but it has been considerably more than twice.”

“It has?”

“Yes …”

“How many times?”

“Eight so far.”

“Oooookaaay …Because, well ...it’s only been twice for me.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“Well, I don’t think it’s interesting at all,” Elai replied, folding her arms. “It’s annoying - and this time it’s chosen a really bad moment, by the way - and the lack of explanation is extremely frustrating.”

“I don’t disagree with that.” He sat down at the edge of the platform and dangled his legs over the edge. The sight made her feel ill. “If it assists in any way, I believe the time of your appearances is somewhat skewed from your perspective. As I said, I have met you eight times so far. Each occasion has followed a chronological progression from my point of view.”

“Look, I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying while you’re sitting that close to the edge, okay?”

He smirked. Then he lifted up a gloved hand, flicked it at her in what was apparently a gesture of farewell, and let himself fall forwards. She let out a small scream and rushed to peer down below the platform. As before, there was no sign of him.

As before - as if his disappearance triggered some kind of signal - she came back to herself in the small, dark study inside the Castrum.

# \------------

After reporting back to Y’shtola at the Waking Sands - and putting up with the scolding she’d expected, although she continued not to say anything about her Echo visions - Elai ‘ported to the Free Company house. For once she didn’t feel like being by herself. Emet Selch was too much of a conundrum, but she didn’t want to think about him, or what he meant. Who he was. Why her Echo was so focused on him. She decided to sit and drink with the others - tell them they were celebrating the discovery of the Scions’ whereabouts - and worry about her visions another time.

“Hello, stranger,” Lily said. “You look terrible.”

Elai blinked. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The Lalafell reached into her pocket and took out a piece of parchment. “Here.”

Elai took it. “What’s this?”

Lily flopped down onto the big leather chair in the hallway. “Letter of thanks from Lord Haurchefant. For helping to rescue Francel de Haillenarte.” She smirked. It reminded Elai far too much of Emet Selch. “He asked that we pass on his thanks to you and congratulate you on your victory over Garuda.”

Elai opened the letter, and skimmed through it. His lordship had very upright handwriting with unexpected flourishes on certain letters and a great deal of underlining for emphasis. It so reflected the extravagant manner that he affected - at least some of the time, although she’d also seen him talk simply and sincerely in private - that she had to smile.

“Kind of him,” she said.

Lily nodded. “He is kind. Are you going to reply?”

Elai looked at her. “Should I? I mean …”

“Twould be polite,” Lily replied. “Just a note. He was very taken with you, after all.”

“He was?”

The Lalafell snorted. “Oh come now, Elai. He didn’t make midnight assignations with anyone else.”

“How did you …? It wasn’t an assignation!” Elai was indignant. “It was an accidental encounter.”

“With cushions?”

“Lily, were you spying on us?”

“Ah, so it’s _us_ now, is it?” Lily sniggered and batted her eyelashes. “Your face is a picture.” She dodged backwards in the chair as Elai reached over to swat her with the letter. “Don’t be mean. I’m just teasing. But he clearly did like you. I mean … well … to be fair, he likes everyone … but he definitely likes you. So you should answer his letter. It’s only polite.” She gave Elai a look that was half insistent and half hopeful.

“I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do.”

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This keeps getting away from me and going in directions I don't expect; it's like trying to take a full-grown dragon for a walk. However, Elai DEFINITELY snuck into Castrum Centri beforehand to make sure the Scions were there. Many many thanks for the kudos; I love logging on and seeing that you guys are enjoying what I'm doing (even if I don't know where it's going lol). Please comment if you like my work too, let me know what you'd like to see.


	9. Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elai has a breakdown. This takes place a few weeks after the previous chapter, during which time Haurchefant's references to more vists to Dragonhead take place.  
There's excessive alcohol and self-loathing so don't read if those are triggers for you.

"I'm afraid I'm a little drunk," Elai said, trying to focus on Haurchefant's face. "Please stand still, you're making me feel dizzy." 

"I _am_ standing still," he replied. She thought he might be smiling at her. "And you’re more than a little drunk, my friend. Tis as well Ser Corentiaux saw you wander away from the aetheryte, else you might have come to harm."

Elai frowned. "I'm not at Dragonhead?" She’d thought it was taking a while to reach the keep door, but she put that down to the number of times she'd fallen over into the snow. It was unconscionably difficult to scramble out of a deep drift after a bottle and a half of brandy. 

"You're not at Dragonhead," Haurchefant agreed. "I believe you turned right instead of left at the aetheryte." 

She blinked at him. For all he said he was standing still, his face was coming and going at an alarming rate. "Where… where am I then?" 

"The road to Ishgard." 

"That's a bish… bitsh silly of me." 

"Indeed. And tis past time we got you out of the cold, my dear. I'm going to pick you up if you have no objection?" 

"I was just going to have a nap…" 

"Best to wait till I get you inside, hmmm?" 

"Well I can try, I guess." She yawned and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was very warm, and he smiled of violets. She snuggled up to him and inhaled. "You smell delicious." 

"Thank you." 

"I smell horrible, don't I?" 

"You smell of brandy," Haurchefant said. "It's not horrible. Not my preferred perfume but not horrible." 

"Oh? What is your preferred perfume?"

She felt his breath on her face as he turned to look at her. "Dearest Elai, I would much rather talk about why you're wandering around Coerthas after midnight and several glasses of brandy? Is it a wild celebration, or has something untoward happened?"

Elai bit her lip. “Is something bad I think."

"You don't remember?" 

"Trying not to.”

His arms tightened a little around her. “I see. Then I’ll ask no more questions.”

“Are you by yourself?”

“No, several of my men are with me. We’re something of a search party, my friend; we didn’t wish to lose you to the elements.”

She nodded and laid her head back down on his shoulder. It moved a little with every step he took, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The world was dipping and swaying anyway; that Haurchefant’s shoulder dipped and swayed with it was acceptable. Sometimes she heard him speak to one of the others, and they’d answer, but she didn’t have the energy to work out what they said. She was trying her very hardest not to think at all. The brandy had helped with that - helped a great deal - but it was starting to wear off now, and ribbons of memory were beginning to twine themselves around her again.

Before she drank herself into a stupor, she’d been unable to stop picturing the scene in her head, reliving it over and over. Every time she closed her eyes it replayed on the backs of her eyelids like the flickering pictures from a tomestone reader. 

Over and over again she stood in the airship as Cid manoeuvred them away from the fort. 

Over and over again the Ascian looked up at them from the castrum courtyard. He dropped his hood and laughed. 

Over and over again she saw Thancred’s face behind the red Ascian mask, his body beneath the black Ascian robes. 

She cried out and would have flung herself forward, uncaring that they were already a hundred fulms up in the air, if Urianger hadn’t caught hold of her.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

But the mage was implacable. “Nay. Thou canst not free him thus. We needs must take counsel with the scholars of Baldesion to seek a means to release him.”

She clutched at Urianger’s arm. “But we can free him, right? He’s not ...I mean ...he’s still alive, yeah? That ...that thing just borrowed his body, yeah?

“Stole,” Y’da said, her lips thin and angry. “Stole his body.”

Elai trembled with panic and fear. “But Thancred ...he’s still in there somewhere, right?”

None of them answered her. She saw Minfilia’s tears and closed her own eyes, sitting in a huddled heap on the floor of the airship. And the sight of the Ascian’s gloating smile seemed etched upon her vision. 

Elai clutched at Haurchefant’s arm. “Goin’ be sick …”

Hero that he was, he didn’t drop her, but set her down carefully upon the snow. He even held her hair back while she threw up, and rubbed her back, and murmured solicitous nonsense. She gasped and shuddered and wiped her mouth on her arm, hating herself.

“No idea why you put up with me,” she muttered.

“Would you like a list?”

She choked on a kind of laugh and shook her head. “No. But I _would_ like a very large glass of water and an even larger blanket.” She gritted her teeth so they wouldn’t start to chatter. “I’m so cold.”

Haurchefant scooped her back up. “Not much farther now, my dear. I can see Yaelle at the gates and … yes, she has the chirugeon with her …”

Elai batted at his hands. “Don’t need a chu … chiru … one of those.”

“I’ll let them be the judge of that.”

She sank back against his shoulder, burying her face in the folds of his cloak. It cushioned her cheek from the chainmail underneath. She’d never seen Haurchefant in anything but his armour; then again, he’d have to say the same about her. She didn’t really possess any clothing other than armour.

“No social life …” she muttered.

“Hmmm?”

“Nothin’...”

She blinked as the light suddenly brightened, and her head started to throb. “Eww … ow … that hurts.”

“If you’ll set her down here, my lord?” said a woman’s voice. “We need to get her warmed up and some liquids inside her. Could you put the kettle on, Juline? Tea, hot but not boiling, and cloth compresses for her head and chest. My lord, your presence is very much de trop at the moment. Juline will let you know when you can return.”

# \------------

Elai tried her hardest to tell the chirugeon she was fine, but the woman ignored her. Then she tried to tell the chirugeon - terrified of the dreams that might come while she was unprotected - that she didn’t need to sleep. The woman ignored that too. 

They gave her a potion. Elai refused to drink it. The woman told Elai she would make her drink it if she didn’t co-operate. Elai thought about replying that she was the primal-slayer and no one made her do _anything_ she didn’t want to, but the thought of fighting Haurchefant’s elderly healer in Haurchefant’s own keep suddenly seemed inappropriate. So she took the flask and swallowed the medicine, hissing in protest at the bitterness. To the chirugeon’s credit, she forbore to look smug about her victory.

And for a miracle Elai slept long, and she slept peacefully, with no dreams at all to disturb her. When she woke, she woke gently, lying for long moments just savouring the warmth and the peace and the very comfortable bed. But slowly reality seeped back in. Her head ached - not violently but enough - and she was very thirsty. She had a foul taste in her mouth. And she had only a dim - but nonetheless very embarrassing - recollection of the past night’s events.

“Urghh,” she moaned into her pillow.

Clinging close to the shirttails of embarrassment came self-disgust and self-loathing. How could she have been so pitiful? And so stupid? And then came despair. For how could someone so pitiful and stupid ever hope to rescue Thancred?

She sat up, wiping away tears, and then stared down at herself. She was wearing a nightgown - a very elaborate and expensive nightgown from what she could see - that certainly wasn’t hers. There was no sign of her own gear anywhere.

Incipient panic - ridiculous panic, since she was at Dragonhead, not the sinister castle of some malevolent foe - wasn’t calmed by a knock at the door.

“Who … who’s there?” she squeaked.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Haurchefant said. “Excellent. May I come in?”

She clutched the bed-clothes to her chest. “O ...okay …”

He opened the door and popped his head around it. “Ah, you look much better.”

Elai thought of and then dismissed any number of responses. Most of them were bitter; some of them were downright rude. It wasn’t Haurchefant’s fault she’d chosen to be an idiot and then put him to the trouble of rescuing her from said idiocy. And he’d done it with grace and good humour too, from what she could remember.

She gritted her teeth. “Thank you for …” Best to spare her own blushes and not elaborate. “For everything, my lord.”

“No need for thanks,” he said. “I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

Gods, she hated herself. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t need it.”

“On the contrary. My friends have helped me stagger home from the Forgotten Knight on many an occasion.”

She wasn’t mollified. “But you wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to ‘port somewhere whilst drunk and _then_ wander off into the … the snowy wilderness …” Tears were stinging at her eyes again, and she dashed them away angrily. “Into the snowy wilderness without the least care for yourself.”

Haurchefant sat down on the bed. She moved her legs to accommodate him.

“Dearest Elai,” he said. “We all do foolish things sometimes. It’s plain to me that you suffer great travail at the moment …”

“I’m a drunk,” she told him. “Plain and simple. I can’t cope with life so I drink.”

He shook his head. “I’ve known you for some time now. You’ve been visiting Dragonhead regularly, and I’ve seen you drink. Indeed we’ve drunk together. Last night is the first time I have ever seen you the worse for wear, my dear.”

“You don’t understand.”

His eyes - so blue, those eyes - were filled with warmth and kindness. “Then help me understand. Share your burdens, Elai. I’m your friend, or at least I hope so …?” She nodded at him, blinking back tears a third time. “Tell me what troubles you, and I’ll try to help you bear it.”

She sniffed, wondering if she dared give him the honesty he asked for. Most likely he’d think her crazy if she did. But he _had_ asked …

Elai took a deep breath. “My name - once upon a time at any rate - was Elladie Byrne …” Too late to go back now, much too late. “I … I’m just going to blurt this out so don’t say anything until I finish, okay? If you stop me in the middle, I’ll lose my nerve. So … My name was Elladie Byrne. I was born … somewhere … don’t know where, the Steppe probably. Never knew my parents. They died or they abandoned me. I hope they died. I know that sounds awful but … well … I really don’t want them to have abandoned me …” She twisted her fingers in the coverlet and avoided looking at him. “Folks in the Ruby Sea looked after me til I was five, then they sent me to Kugane to get educated. When I was fifteen, my Echo started up.” She looked at him, he was watching her intently. “I’m not going to try and explain the Echo - maybe you’ve heard of it - but my … the people who raised me, they’re suspicious of it. They think it means … well … craziness, I guess. So they sent me away. When I was fifteen.” Back to pleating the coverlet again with her fingers. “That was … hard. But I got to Eorzea, and I found folks who understood the Echo, and I found … made … friends. Then … then Bahamut happened.” She was very careful not to look at him now, focused on folding and unfolding the velvet quilt ‘neath her hands. “I know I don’t look old enough, but I was there. I was with Louisoix when he started casting the spell to ‘prison Bahamut again. It failed. And oh, the look on his face when he knew. The sad, sweet smile on his face. He turned to me, and he cast another spell, and I stared down at my own hands as they … as the light burst around me. And when I opened my eyes again, I didn’t know where I was.” She sighed, the burst of energy that had allowed her to speak suddenly fading. “I was here. In Eorzea, I mean. Five years after Bahamut. And no one remembered me. Elladie Byrne was dead. I remembered them - all of them, even the ones who’d also died - but none of them knew Elai Khatahdin. That’s why I can’t cope with life. Why I drink. Pretty much.”

She sat there trembling, waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to think she was crazy. Or pretend that he didn’t think she was crazy. He didn’t speak, and in the end it was harder not to look, so she lifted her eyes.

He smiled at her so tenderly that tears slid across her face yet again.

“I find,” he said softly, his hands reaching for hers. “That I cannot bear to think what you have endured, my dearest Elai. Please never think I judge you or condemn you; I am more like to fall at your feet in profound adoration.”

She gasped and choked, and her tears fell more freely. “I … I …”

“There’s no need to speak. Merely know that there is always a place for you here, a place where I am.” His thumb wiped away the wetness on her face. “I am honoured to be able to call you my friend.”

# \------------

He left her to sleep, which she did again without dreaming, as if the catharsis of her words to him had burned away all her nightmares.

When she woke again - to daylight and to a deep longing for cooked bacon and poached eggs and many, many Ishgardian muffins - all her gear was stowed on the chest by the window. She rose, her headache almost gone, and made use of the chamber pot before she dressed. She found she felt almost light-hearted. Ready to pick up her burdens and cares. Ready to find a way to free Thancred from the toils of the Ascians.

She made her way downstairs to find Haurchefant in the great hall, not in his accustomed place behind his desk but standing in front of a large pile of books, his hands on his hips, looking somewhat aggrieved. One of his knights - the woman called Yaelle - was standing next to him and gesticulating.

Haurchefant turned when he heard the door.

“Elai!” he exclaimed. “Look at this mess! What in the Fury’s name am I supposed to do with it?”

Elai looked. It _was_ a very large pile. Some of the volumes looked thoroughly out of sorts as well; crumpled pages, damp bindings, bent spines.

“Buy some bookshelves?” she suggested.

Yaelle sniggered and then tried to disguise it as a cough.

Haurchefant narrowed his eyes. “Very funny. I see you’re the perfect hero when it comes to primal slaying but less useful when dealing with a … with a …”

“Furnishing crisis?” Elai asked, affecting an air of innocence.

Yaelle could no longer contain her laughter. After a second or two, Haurchefant started to laugh too. 

“I concede I may have overreacted,” he said when he could speak. “But really, I do _not_ wish to have a pile of heavy volumes in the middle of the floor. They are in the way. And they’re distracting me. Every time I look up and see them, I wonder what marvels are writ within.”

Elai picked up the topmost book. It was very heavy, bound in embossed red leather, and its title read ‘The Manifolde Uses and Varieties of Goblin Waxe’.

“Eww,” Yaelle said. “That sounds …”

“Yeah,” Elai agreed.

Haurchefant refused to be disenchanted. “The others may well be more thought provoking.”

“My thoughts are very provoked right now,” Elai told him. “Where did these even come from?”

Haurchefant clutched at his hair. “It was an irate peddler. Why he supposed my courtyard was an appropriate place to abandon his wares remains a mystery.”

“A gentleman was supposed to meet the peddler here to take delivery,” Yaelle explained. “But he never turned up. So the peddler was angry - unsurprisingly since he had yet to be paid the bulk of his coin - and he offloaded all the books in a heap in the courtyard. We brought them inside for fear of the damage the weather might do.”

“And offloaded them in a heap in the main hall,” Haurchefant said.

Yaelle sighed. “My lord isn’t happy. As you may have gathered.”

“Your lord is also unhappy when you talk about him as if he’s not right here,” Haurchefant pointed out.

Elai clamped her teeth firmly on her bottom lip. “I’ll undertake to deal with the books, Yaelle, if his lordship will advise where he’d like me to put them? I’m sure there must be somewhere in the Keep …?”

“I will help you,” Haurchefant announced.

Yaelle shook her head in exasperation and stalked off.

Haurchefant grinned. 

He looked at Elai. “My thanks.”

She shook her head at him. “You could have just told Yaelle you’d move them in the first place, you know?”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s a mystery why your staff don’t strangle you in your sleep, my lord.”

He threw back his head and laughed properly at that. “Nonsense. They adore me. As you well know. So let’s transport these volumes to a place more appropriate and then we can sit and drink hot chocolate to sustain ourselves.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“You wish for more arakh?”

She began to arrange the books into a more transportable pile. “Actually I’m longing for breakfast.”

“In truth it’s way past noon,” Haurchefant replied. “But I’m a genial host. Never let it be said that I denied any guest under my roof. Fried karakul?”

“That’s fine. Or bacon.” She smiled hopefully. “Poached eggs? Toasted muffins? I mean … I don’t mind …”

“Spiced kedgeree?”

“I … sure. Why not?”

“Excellent. Let’s adjourn to the kitchens then and harass Medguistl. I’m sure the books will still be here when we return.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. I’ve no idea what you’re thanking me for, but you’re welcome.”

She smiled at him.

“For being you,” she said.

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this & throwing it away for two weeks now. Just couldn't get it right. Hopefully it works finally. She needed to have some kind of meaningful reaction to Thancred's plight, and I also wanted to develop her relationship with Haurchefant a little more.


	10. Hot ashes for trees ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Praetorium.

“Why hello again, Gaius,” Elai said. She ignored the quiescent bulk of the Ultima Weapon - she’d seen it before, it held no horrors for her - to fix her eyes on van Baelsar who was standing on the mechanical beast’s shoulder. They awaited her in a vast, metal hanger, the usual melange of Garlean military megalomania, everything oversized and excessive. Even the lights looked like they thought they had something to prove. “We really have to stop meeting like this. Folk will start to talk.”

The Garlean folded his arms. “You’re persistent, champion, if nothing else.”

Elai smirked at him. “Oh I think you’ll find I’m plenty else. See, you and I, we have a couple of things in common. Neither of us are over-fond of gods, and we both like to think we’re the best at what we do. But what you do is stomp on other people when they disagree with you.” She reached over her shoulder and slowly unsheathed the falchion on her back. “What I do is stop you.”

“Pretty words,” he sneered. “You think you’re the champion of the oppressed? I imagine the beastmen wouldn’t agree. How many of them have you slain now?”

“Oh, are we going to have a conversation? I thought we were going to fight this out.” She planted the sword in the floor - it was too damn heavy to hold in one hand, and she wasn’t going to stand there in battle stance while van Baelsar rained words down on her - and looked at him. “See, I don’t have an issue with the beastmen. If they leave me alone - and by ‘me’ I mean Eorzea, of course - then I’m more than happy to let them be. Unlike the majority of people in this room …” Were Ascians even people? Well, whatever, she knew the Paragon was there somewhere, pulling van Baelsar’s strings. “Unlike them, I’m pretty much live and let live.” She batted her eyes at the Garlean. “But piss me off - which _you’ve_ done very thoroughly - and I lose my cool. So let’s just get this over with, huh?”

“Very well, hero.” He sheathed his gunblade, and the vast machina beneath him began to rumble into life. She watched as the Garlean stepped inside; as the Weapon began to arm itself; it was impressive certainly, even beautiful if you admired exaggerated musculature. The engineers of ancient Allag clearly thought bigger was better, but bigger brought its own problems. Less agile. Slow. Ponderous. Of course the Weapon had devoured manifestations of three primals - three primals she’d fought - and though she didn’t know the ‘why’ of that, she was prepared for its consequences. Ifrit, Titan and Garuda held no fears for her, she’d defeated all three. The Weapon itself was more of a conundrum. But it was a construct, not an entity; kill its pilot, and she killed its life support. 

Elai laughed aloud as the creature flung wide its massive claws, and its eyes blazed red. Nophica’s tits, but she loved her work. This part of it, anyway. She hefted up the falchion and leapt forward towards her opponent.

It was huge. Really fucking huge. But that made it vulnerable to a single, sword-armed warrior, underneath its belly where its lasers couldn’t target her. Elai laughed again, revelling in the dance. This was _it_; this was _everything_. That she was broken, shattered, in pieces, none of that mattered any more. Now she was whole. Now she was marvellous. Now she was everything she was meant to be. She knew every step in the dance before her partner took them. She was there before it. Ready. Waiting. _Laughing_.

“The Ultima weapon has partaken of the power of Eikons!” van Baelsar screamed. “None can stand against it!”

Elai flipped forwards to evade one of the huge clawed feet. “Just watch me, Gaius! Just watch me!” It was exhilarating and thrilling. The more exhilarating and thrilling because the line she raced along, 'twixt triumph and disaster, was the thinnest of threads. She was drunk with the glory, giddy with delight, but if she stumbled she might never rise again.

Hydaelyn’s eerie monotone threaded through her head. “Hearken unto me, crystal bearer. Thy foe is Darkness clad in steel. If thou wouldst triumph, thou must look to the Light.”

“Shit!” Distracted enough in that second, Elai didn't react fast enough as the machina scythed its massive tail. A glancing blow caught her, and she skidded across the metal floor. She threw a forward roll, knowing it would take the chance to fire and needing to be out of range. “Not a great time, Your Godliness, not gonna lie.” She was breathing heavy as she came out of the roll and plunged back under the belly of the beast.

As if it sensed her brief disadvantage - or van Baelsar did - she was flung back with a burst of heat that reminded her of Ifrit. But that was warning enough. This time she was ready when the ground erupted into fire, and she threw herself forwards into another roll, under the belly again. The machina had done more than just eat the primal; it had absorbed Ifrit’s essence somehow.

Elai drove the falchion up between the beast's scales and hung there for a second or two as she reached out for Ifrit’s aether. Yeah, there it was, churning with heat and rage. Ideally she’d just dump it somewhere, but it wasn’t really something she wanted to leave lying around. And if she dumped it here, the beast might just siphon it up again. So she swallowed it herself, wincing as her own aether swirled and separated to make room.

“Godless blessed.” Ifrit’s voice hissed in the depths of her consciousness. “Release me!”

“Great,” Elai sighed, slicing the falchion through the mechanical hide and twisting right as the beast tried to hop-stomp her. “Like I don’t have enough voices inside my head already. Best make room for your friends, Ifrit. They’ll be joining you soon.”

“Nooo!” She heard van Baelsar’s howl above the clash of her sword against metal and the surge of the beast’s lasers. “How ...how are you doing this!?”

“No fucking idea,” Elai gasped as she span a full circle to avoid a blast from the ceruleum vents.

“The Ultima Weapon is all-powerful! Why are you still standing?”

“Guess someone exaggerated a touch, huh?”

“Can your strength _truly_ be so great?” He sounded almost like he wanted to weep.

Another voice cut through the fading sounds of battle. “It is the blessing of Light that confounds you.”

“Lahabrea …” van Baelsar said.

Elai looked up, falchion still at the ready, and a breath hissed between her teeth as the Ascian appeared. He hung in mid-air, still wearing Thancred’s body, his face unmasked; violet and grey darkness swirled about him. “Your foe acts under the protection of the Crystal she bears. If you are to prevail, the hammer of Darkness must needs be brought to bear upon the shield of Light.”

“Oh please,” Elai said. “Stop talking like a villain in a really bad melodrama. Oh, and get the fuck out of Thancred’s body while you’re at it.”

The Ascian ignored her. “The Ultima Weapon is host to a power of which you are as yet ignorant. The Heart of Sabik sits at its core, and the magic within that core has lain dormant for eons.” He spoke fervently, as if in prayer, as if in fervent adoration of some god. “A spell without parallel. Ultima.”

“Oh fuck,” Elai muttered.

“_Lahabrea_…” It sounded as though van Baelsar was just now realising how badly he’d been manipulated. “What have you done?”

“No more than was necessary for my god to be reborn …”

“Fucking gods,” Elai just knew it. “Fucking, _fucking_ gods.”

The Weapon flung apart its clawed arms again, and she could sense something charging in the depths. Something she neither knew nor recognised and therefore had no idea how to negate.

“If you’re there, Ifrit,” she muttered. “Now would be a great time to pull something out of the bag. You, too, Hydaelyn, got a feeling most of this is your fault anyhow.”

As a blinding surge of magick burst from within the Ultima Weapon, Elai felt an answering barrier fly up. It felt similar to the dome Louisoix tried to build to ‘prison Bahamut, except that this was a shield and not a prison. She crouched inside it, covering her eyes, and wished she had a way not to listen to the thunder of the machina’s spell. She could hear walls tearing apart with a scream of metal, towers falling, and her hands clenched on the falchion. All those people. Friends as well as enemies. Twelve grant that they survived the devastation.

As the shield around her faded, she heard the crazed laughter of the Ascian. “Oh, Hydaelyn, it seems the task of keeping Your champion alive has exhausted what strength you had left.” Elai scowled; she was so taking that fucker to _pieces_ once she dealt with the Weapon. “Van Baelsar, your enemy’s shield is broken. The rest I leave to you.”

She didn't wait for the machina to start charging another spell. The wreckage of the Praetorium smoked and smouldered around her - she could smell burning metal and acrid smoke - and she had no intention of giving it time to press its advantage. She plunged forward, back under the belly.

The Weapon spewed out small magitek that encircled her and began to fire a pattern of lasers. She danced and leapt around them, tempting them to target her when she was close to the machina and then diving out of the way. It was hard work. Exhausting work. She was sweating heavily and tiring fast, but the magitek were doing more damage to their progenitor than to her, and she laughed. “Gotta try harder, van Baelsar.”

When the machina began to judder, small explosions erupting from its metal hide, and it ejected the Garlean out into the arena, Elai was almost surprised. Honestly she’d expected another spell. In its place, she’d have cast another spell, even if it took everything she had. Van Baelsar lay, coughing and moaning and cursing, not quite ended yet. She could hear him muttering still, more tirades about ‘weak rulers’ and ‘providence’ and ‘the cost to the realm’.

“Oh spare me the speeches,” Elai said, clinging to the falchion to keep herself upright. She dragged her forearm across her face to mop up some of the perspiration.

Van Baelsar didn’t seem to hear her. “You ...of all people ...must see the truth in this? You ...who have the strength to rule …”

“Really?” She looked at him and shook her head. "Give it up, Gaius. You lost. It's over."

He slumped back to the ground, silent finally. Elai sheathed the falchion and leaned forward, hands on her knees. She took a few deep breaths. Hard to believe it was done; the Ultima Weapon destroyed, Gaius defeated, if not dead. She looked up and over to where the Garlean lay but, before she could move, Lahabrea appeared above her.

“Pathetic,” he sneered, focusing on the Garlean. “I entrusted you with the ultimate weapon - the ultimate magic - and you _still_ failed. So much for the glory of man.”

“If I were you," Elai said. “I'd be a bit more worried about the glory of women. We still got stuff to deal with, me and you.”

He folded his arms and gave her a measuring look. It was the kind of look she could never - not if she lived for aeons - imagine seeing on Thancred's face, and she hated it. The Ascian bowed his head. “The growing imbalance afflicting the planet must be redressed.”

Elai stared at him. “What? You want to _talk_ now? Seriously? Trust me, the time for talking is way, way past. You should have tried it before you kidnapped my _friend_ and appropriated his _body_.”

Lahabrea appeared not to hear her. He looked up again, straight at her this time. And it was creepy as hell to hear his voice coming out of Thancred’s mouth. “If the imbalance is permitted to worsen, the very laws of existence - both aetheric and physical - will be warped beyond all recognition. If the planet is to recover, Hydaelyn must be burned out like the parasite she is.”

“Strange,” Elai replied. “She speaks just as fondly of you.”

“Naught but the return of the one true god will ensure Her complete excision.”

“Oh, what a surprise.” She tilted her head and shrugged. “Joke! I’m not surprised at all. And whoever writes your speeches really needs to work on injecting some imagination and originality …”

The Ascian’s impassive face was marred by the tiniest of frowns. “You will not leave this place alive.”

“Guess we'll see about that.”

He shook his head. “You cannot defeat me, champion of Hydaelyn. The best you can hope for is to drive me out by destroying the mortal whose frame I wear.”

Elai scowled. She had a horrible feeling that for once he was telling the literal truth. And she had no intention of doing anything that might seriously harm Thancred, not until she was certain there was no other option. Of course it wasn't likely Lahabrea would just walk away; he thought he had the advantage. So the only option was to render Thancred unconscious and hope that either Lahabrea decided to cut his losses at that point or that she could find a way to drive him out permanently. 

“Only Light may banish the Darkness.” Hydaelyn’s monotone reverberated inside Elai’s head. “If thou wouldst pierce the shadows ...make thee a blade of light.”

"Sounds great," Elai muttered, drawing the falchion again. "Any suggestions on how I might do that?" 

The world shifted, and she found herself tumbling through a familiar emptiness - an emptiness peppered with stars - to alight on a familiar platform. It was the vision she’d seen so many times before, even down to the robed Ascian. Except this time he wore Thancred’s face instead of his mask. And this time the sigils on the platform all bore a crystal, crystals that represented the battles she'd fought to reach this point. Without even thinking about how or why, she lifted the falchion above her head, and the multi-coloured beams from the crystals flooded into it. It turned into a perfect spear of light, and she flung it at Lahabrea, even as he readied his magicks. It flew into him, piercing him through the chest, and the light sundered him from Thancred. Elai cried out, a cry full of delight and rage both, and the Ascian shuddered.

"Too much," he screamed. "It is too much! She is too full of light."

As she bore down on him again, his shape shattered, leaving only Elai floating in the star-sprinkled night. She breathed as though she'd run a thousand malms through the dark to reach that place, hardly able to believe it was done.

“Beloved daughter ...” Hydaelyn said.

Elai held up a hand. “Just don't, okay? Yeah, thanks for the help, I do appreciate it, but I didn’t do this for you, I did it for Thancred. So I need to get back and grab him and get him out of the Praetorium before the whole place blows up. If you don’t mind …”

“The Darkness hath fled before the unenclosed brilliance of thy spirit. Yet it lingereth still beyond the sight of men, in forgotten corners of the world …”

“What part of ‘I’m in a hurry,’ didn’t you understand?” Elai demanded.

“In the depths of the abyss yet resideth the Dark One, watchful ever. Till this evil be cast out, never shall the world know aught but a passing peace.”

She shook her head, aghast at the self-centredness of deity. “Yeah, got it. Dark One. Abyss. Noted. Now let me _out of here_, damn it!”

When the world shifted again and she found herself back in the shattered pit of the Praetorium, she staggered over to Thancred, hauled him over her shoulder and started to run.

There was no sign of Gaius van Baelsar.

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't enjoy writing scenes that are actually in the game as cutscenes, but there was a lot I wanted to get across about Elai, her reactions to Lahabrea & to Hydaelyn, and her fighting style/enjoyment of same/ability to use aether. A bit of head-canoning about what all this means, a lot more to come in the next chapter as she has never really addressed her aetheric abilities before.  
There's still some editing going on here as I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so it's a work in progress I guess  
Thanks for all the kudos & comments, you're all lovely :)


	11. Hot air for a cool breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional indigestion and aetherial indigestion ...

“Thine observations hath been most helpful, Mistress Elai,” Urianger unbent enough to bestow a small smile upon her. “We lacked any detailed information concerning the Ascians, though tis my hope this scarcity transformeth into a veritable feast given time. Certainly thine revelations about their deity filleth a profound gap in our knowledge. As doth the means by which thou dispatched the one called Lahabrea.”

Elai returned the smile, even though Urianger’s conversational acrobatics made him hard to follow. “You’re very welcome ...I think.”

“I shall compile a dossier that …” A knock at the door interrupted him mid-flow. “Come in?”

Thancred peeked around the corner, and Elai immediately looked down at her hands. For some reason - now everyone knew she was a returned Warrior of Light, or at least had taken to calling her one - dealing with Thancred was more excruciating than ever.

“I was looking for Elai,” Thancred said. “Is she ...oh, there you are. Could you ...that is, do you have a minute or two? I need to talk to you.”

“Urianger was just …” she started.

Urianger shook his head. “Nay, tis good. If there is aught thou hast forgotten, thou knowest well where to find me.”

“Right …” She stood up. “Well, umm …” Urianger’s study was so small, it barely fit two people, never mind three. Moving away from the desk and out of the door meant getting much closer to Thancred than she wanted.

“I believe the solar’s empty,” Thancred said quickly, stepping backwards. “Minfilia went into Vesper Bay with Tataru. I believe they’re shopping for candles. And more ink.” He seemed to notice he was babbling. “That is to say …” He bowed. “...My profound apologies, Elai. I wish to talk to you in private if you’d be so kind …” He gave her a pained smile. “But my composure appears to have deserted me.”

“It’s fine.” She bit her lip. “I mean, it’s not needful.” Her composure had disappeared also. “I _mean_ there’s nothing that needs saying, certainly not anything that needs saying in private so …”

“I beg to differ. If you please …” He stepped back and held out his hand, indicating that she should precede him up the hallway. Elai sighed and shrugged and did as he asked.

The solar was indeed empty. She walked inside and stopped in front of Minfilia’s desk. As she always did. Thancred leaned against the wall. As he always did. She didn’t look at him; instead she stared at the broken remains of Tupsimati on the wall.

Thancred cleared his throat. “I wanted ...that is to say, I wish to thank you for your efforts on my behalf. To free me from my ...my …”

“It’s fine. You’re welcome. It was …” She was going to say ‘nothing’ but realised that was tactless. “Wasn’t a problem. I mean, I was there anyway. I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”

“I apologise for needing rescuing in the first place. And for …” He cleared his throat again. “He ...the Ascian ...he used my knowledge and my familiarity with the Sands to create a portal. That’s how the Garleans got inside.”

Elai nodded. “Yeah. I mean … I kind of figured that.” She felt so sorry for him. He must hate himself. She knew very well how that felt. “It wasn’t your fault, Thancred.”

“I presented myself to him like a candy in a box.”

“You were trying to help, to do the right thing, and the Ascian …” She was never going to call Lahabrea by name, he didn’t deserve it, not after what he’d done. “The Ascian just got lucky. He was after me, the trap he sent at Haukke Manor was for me.”

“And _you_ didn’t fall for it, unlike me.”

“Only because you already sprung it. He didn’t need me anymore, he just wanted to kill me. He set up the whole thing with Lady Amandine to be rid of me.” She blinked away tears, she didn’t want to start crying, it wasn’t going to help. “That’s what they do. They give people what people think they want, but the Ascians are just using them.”

She heard his footsteps come across the floor. She clasped her hands tightly in front of herself and turned to look at him.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said. “Also …” He hesitated.

“It’s fine. You thanked me. Nothing more needed.”

“Minfilia said …”

Elai gritted her teeth. “It doesn’t matter what Minfilia said.”

“It does,” Thancred insisted. “Minfilia told me about you. Before.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. “Seven hells, I’m doing this so badly.” He reached out to touch her hand, and she shied away. “Minfilia said we were friends, you and I. Before Carteneau. But I ...I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

Elai folded her arms, turned her back, and walked away. At least Minfilia hadn’t told him the whole. Only Minfilia had ever recognised her before the Praetorium. “I know. It’s okay.”

“But it’s not okay.”

She wanted to howl, and yell, and scream. “No. You’re right.” She stopped to take a few agonised breaths. “It’s not okay. But it’s how it is. And I don’t want to talk about it. So please, just stop. I’m Elai Khatahdin now. Whoever I was before Carteneau doesn’t matter.”

He stood behind her without speaking. She wiped away the tears on her face with the back of her hand and crept out of the solar. Life would be so much easier if she only had to interact with her enemies. Friends just complicated matters immeasurably.

It was a good couple of hours on foot from Vesper Bay to Horizon, but Elai decided the walk would do her good. Help calm her down, get her head back into a safe space. She didn’t want to hit the bar at the Quicksand and dive straight into a bottle of brandy; another incident like the one with Haurchefant would be bad. And it was a pleasant enough evening - not too cold, not yet - and the road through the Footfalls was quiet. She’d hire a chocobo once she reached Horizon; that way she’d get to Ul’dah before the bars closed and …

An enraged bellow interrupted her musings, and she looked up. There was a peiste up ahead, one of the many beasts that wandered the Footfalls beyond the road. Elai could see an arrow lodged in the flaps of skin around its throat; it was shaking its head violently, trying to dislodge it. The archer who’d fired the arrow was in the water, a Miqo’te by the looks of it, on their hands and knees and trying to scramble away from the peiste as fast as possible.

“Haha HA! Hehe.” Garuda’s cackle echoed inside Elai’s head. “Free me, and I shhall devour it, landwalker.”

Elai sighed and ignored the primal. But that was something else she definitely needed to deal with, and sooner rather than later. Help the Miqo’te in front of her, who probably didn’t deserve ending up as a peiste’s supper; stop everyone, Thancred included, behaving as though the Warrior of Light title meant anything; and work out a way to deal with her unwelcome aetherical guests. Easy, right?

She drew the falchion and put herself between the peiste and its prospective prey ...

When she finally reached the Quicksand and settled down with a - small - glass of brandy, Elai pinged Lily on the linkpearl. “Need to talk to you, Lil.”

“You okay?”

She nodded even though Lily obviously couldn’t see her. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just wanted to ask some questions about arcanima.”

“Oooo, fun. You thinking of becoming an arcanist then?”

It was going to take some doing, skating around the subject without revealing any particulars. No way was she telling Lily - or anyone else - that she’d inadvertently eaten three primals. “Umm ...no ...just some er ...theoretical questions.”

“Well,” Lily said. “As it happens, I’m in Limsa right now. Just fulfilling my regular obligations for the guild. So if you ’port over, I can introduce you to Mistress Thubyrgeim - she’s the acting guildmaster, and she’s much better at theory than me - and then we can go shopping.”

Elai frowned. “Shopping for what?”

“New clothes, of course.”

“I don’t need new clothes.”

“Of course you do,” Lily replied. “Everyone needs new clothes. And you especially. You’re the Warrior of Light now …”

“Please don’t call me that ...”

“Okay, okay. Who pissed on _your_ bonfire?”

“I’m sorry, Lil.” Elai rubbed a hand across her face. “I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just been a difficult few days. But I’m serious. Please don’t call me ‘you know what’.”

“Well I won’t, then.” The Lalafell sounded subdued, and Elai felt like a brute. “But other people will. And you still need new clothes.”

“All right, whatever.” She sighed. “What are these clothes for, exactly?”

“Weeeeeellll …. Suppose Haurchefant invites you to dine with him somewhere fancy? You’d have to dress up.”

Elai unclipped the linkpearl and stared at it, then clipped it back on. “I never dress up. I don’t have anything to dress up in. I wouldn’t want him to think that …”

“That you made an effort?” Lily sounded cross; Elai could imagine her curling her lip.

“That I was expecting anything,” Elai replied. “I mean … I would just be being friendly. I like him, he’s lovely, but I’m not … it’s not …”

“Well you could wash your hair, I guess,” Lily said. “And your hands. Maybe don’t wear as many weapons as usual. Try and look like it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that you can relax and have a bit of fun.”

“I can relax and have fun. And I don’t wear _that_ many weapons.”

“I might believe you,” Lily huffed. “If the only clothes you possessed weren’t all variations on some kind of armour.”

“I have stuff that isn’t armour.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I have … I have nightclothes! And … umm … underwear.”

“So you’re going to dinner with Lord Haurchefant in your underwear?”

“No!” Elai shrieked. She turned and hunched her shoulders as all the other people in the Quicksand stopped and stared at her. “No, of course not, Lily. I thought this was an imaginary dinner. I mean, it _is_ an imaginary dinner. What are we even talking about?”

Lily giggled. “About buying new clothes. I’ll meet you at the aetheryte in Limsa in the morning. And Elai?”

“Yeah …”

“Bring plenty of coin.”

# \------------

Mistress Thubyrgeim of Mealvaan’s Gate was a Roegadyn of formidable mien. She looked Elai up and down - Elai wrinkled her nose and thought that, just maybe, they should have gone shopping first, not second - ignored Lily’s preamble about the Warrior of Light, and said, “How is your mathematics?”

Elai blinked. “I ...ah ...I generally know if I’ve been short-changed, ma’am.” Thubyrgeim was the kind of woman it felt needful to call ‘ma’am’.

“Geometry?”

“I can calculate the angle and pitch of a trebuchet …”

“Algebra?”

Elai scowled at Lily. No one had mentioned going back to school. “Mistress Thubyrgeim, I just have some questions about the theory behind the carbuncles. I don’t want to …”

“Nonsense,” the Roegadyn replied briskly. “If you can’t apply the theory in a practical fashion, you won’t understand any of the answers to your questions. We’ll go downstairs and see what you’re made of. There are two kinds of arcanist, my dear; those who compensate for their lack of aetherial acuity with hard work and study, and those who use their excess of aetherial energy to avoid ever opening a book. The former are work-a-day arcanists who get the job done. The latter are able to soar high, but they’re liable to blow themselves up and everyone else with them.”

Elai didn’t argue. Master Ayahe had disapproved of arcanima; it smacked too much of the forbidden magicks of Allag. She did wonder, however, which kind of arcanist Lily was.

“Don’t ask,” Lily muttered, clearly reading her mind.

They followed Thubyrgeim down the stairs to the lower floors where the guild proper was located. There was a large circular room - clearly intended for practical experimentation, judging by the number of different coloured carbuncles whizzing about - which was where the guildmaster stopped.

“Go ahead,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the arena.

Elai widened her eyes at Lily. The Lalafell shrugged. “I guess try to summon a carby?”

Thubyrgeim nodded. “Just so. Given your abilities in other areas, upon which subject Lilani has been _most_ vocal …” Elai frowned at Lily. “Given those abilities, I would expect basic summoning to be well within your capabilities. I doubt you’ll require even simple arcane calculus to be able to call upon a carbuncle. Of course such is only the beginning, but it forms an excellent starting point.”

Elai stared at her, wondering if she was being opaque on purpose. Did she want Elai to fail? Or was the knack of summoning really that straightforward? Was it some kind of test to prove if she was worth the guildmaster’s trouble? She sighed and walked down the small flight of steps into the arena, finding a section that wasn’t already occupied. Then she closed her eyes - she’d never noticed if Lily closed her eyes or not when calling Archie, but it seemed appropriate - and thought about having her own carbuncle.

It might be useful, an arcane construct to fight beside her; she could definitely have used one in the battle with Ultima, as a distraction for her foe if nothing else. Arguably the construct wasn’t alive - although Lily and Archie might have a word or two to say about that - so she didn’t need to worry about its wellbeing. One that could use healing magic would be really useful. But so would one that cast damaging spells from a distance. Or one that closed in on the target and kept its attention, in case Elai needed to be out of range. As powerful as possible of course. Strong and able to take some hits. She began to focus her aether, imagining the summon building in front of her. 

Ifrit’s voice hissed in the depths of her consciousness. “Yessss. Release me, godless blessed.”

Elai yelped and opened her eyes. Screams erupted around her as a wash of crimson spilled across the wooden floor. Out of it, piece by piece - as if it were climbing up out of the flames - a fiery, horned manikin formed. It was somewhat like Ifrit, but only somewhat. A great deal smaller, at least, for which she was very grateful.

The other arcanists in the arena fled up the steps in a scrambled crowd of pushing and squealing.

“Llymlaen’s mercy!” Thubyrgeim gasped. “What demon have you called forth?”

The mini-Ifrit turned to the guildmaster.

“That’s enough!” Elai thought it at the Ifrit voice inside her head instead of speaking aloud. “You’re outside on sufferance, it’s not permanent. And if you don’t behave, you’ll go back in.”

“Heehee HAHA hahaha! Better to free _me_, foolish landwalker.” Elai recognised Garuda’s shrill tones. “I will loose the winds upon thine enemies.”

She felt her hold on the Ifrit manikin wavering as Garuda struggled to fight its way out of its aetherial chains. Matters would surely not end well if either of them escaped - _gods_, imagine being the Warrior of Light who released two primals on Limsa Lominsa - so she swallowed the mini-Ifrit down just as she had in the Praetorium. It didn’t go easily either; aetherial indigestion was _absolutely_ a thing apparently.

“Elai? _Elai_?” A white-faced Lily embraced Elai’s knees. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I ...think so. Bit shaken.” She felt dizzy and more than a little disoriented, honestly. And Ifrit was still growling away inside her head, although it had stopped throwing itself against the walls of her ...mind? soul? ...for now. If summoning one of them was always going to be this debilitating, if she was going to have to battle them every time as well as her opponent, she needed another solution. “I’d like to sit down if you don’t mind.”

Mistress Thubyrgeim looked almost as pale-faced as Lily. “I’ve never seen anything like that in all my years with the guild. Where did it come from, Warrior?”

“I think it was Ifrit.”

“Llymlaen’s mercy! Truly?”

Elai sat down on the stone steps. Archie minced over to her and head-butted her thigh; she petted its head absentmindedly. “Well it was vaguely Ifrit-shaped …” Eating primals was probably very much against guild rules, best not to mention that side of things.

“In that case, this is beyond my abilities to unravel.” Thubyrgeim was beginning to sound thoughtful instead of panicked, and Elai decided it was probably safe to relax. “As it happens, however, I do know of someone who might be able to help you. She works for an organisation called the Sons of Saint Coineach.” The guildmaster smiled. “The research she’s currently conducting has need of someone who has faced and defeated the Lord of the Inferno. Something that clearly applies to yourself. That you’re able to summon his simulacrum already encourages me to think you’re ideally suited to assist her. Her name is Y’mhitra, and she’s currently in Gridania. I’d like to suggest you seek her out.”

Elai wrinkled her nose. Gridania was one place she avoided; she’d only been back once since Carteneau, to deliver a message for General Aldynn to the Seedseer. It wasn’t that she disliked the place - rather the opposite, she’d shared a house there with her friends before the Calamity. But it held too many bittersweet memories, and she didn’t want to go back.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to vomit up three irate primals because she didn’t have the right tools to contain them or dispose of them herself. Titan hadn’t shown itself yet, but she knew very well it was there. “That sounds sensible, guildmaster.”

“I’ll let Y’mhitra know to expect you in that case. And Warrior …?”

“Yes?”

“Please avoid any more summoning attempts until you’ve spoken with her? I’m happy to consider you a guild member - you clearly have the aptitude for it - but I’d prefer it if you left the practical aspects of summoning until Y’mhitra is able to offer you her help and guidance.”

Elai nodded. That made excellent sense. “Of course, guildmaster.”

Thubyrgeim smiled and waved them away. Elai hurried back up the stairs before the Roegadyn changed her mind, Lily and Archie at her heels. Outside of Mealvaan’s Gate, she stopped and looked at the other two.

“Oh my,” Lily said. “That was very ...interesting. I bet you need a drink, I certainly do. Let’s hurry to the Upper Decks. We can go to Malindi’s; it’s not tea-time yet so it shouldn’t be too busy, we can get a seat out on the deck. They do the most marvellous cocktails. My treat. Maybe save the shopping til tomorrow? Because I’m absolutely _dying_ to hear how in the seven hells you managed to summon a baby Ifrit. Come on.”

They sat together on the terrace at Malindi’s - a bar run by the eponymous Malindi herself, an older Lalafell who reminded Elai a great deal of Momodi - and drank rolanberry daiquiris. Although it was very late in the year - close to the Starlight Festival - and late in the afternoon, Limsa’s climate was mild and the sun warm. There were a few wisps of cloud, but they only emphasised the blue of the sky. And the breeze rattled the rigging of the ships below in a pleasant manner, a relaxing manner. The water lapped against the pilings of the docks. Hungry gulls landed on the terrace balustrade, looking hopeful, and Archie chased them off. Elai sighed with pleasure, lay back in her chair, and refused to talk about anything difficult or controversial.

They stayed there until late, eating some of Malindi’s famous bouillabaisse when they grew hungry. Then they walked back together to the Drowning Wench and asked for rooms. Elai had drunk too many daiquiris to worry about niceties; she fell into bed fully clothed, just pulling the coverlet over herself in case the night turned cold.

She opened her eyes on a view that certainly wasn’t Limsa Lominsa. 

The sea churned and boiled. Static electricity hummed above its surface, sparking in countless small bursts as the waves surged. The water was coloured a livid magenta; in places it reflected the sky, dark and crowded with enormous storm clouds. Slashes of lightning sundered the clouds periodically, and thunder rolled.

Elai sighed and looked down at herself. She was taller again but still an Au Ra; the scales on her arms were pale ivory instead of dark. She wore cloth trews, short utilitarian boots, and a leather tank top. There were tattoos on her arms, symbols she didn’t recognise, and her hair was cut short. She really needed to start carrying a mirror with her for just these moments. But would that even work? And if it did, what would she see?

Elai shrugged her shoulders. “More important things to worry about right now …” She dodged down the beach as a thrust of lightning forked close to where she was standing. “Time to find somewhere to shelter. Where is Emet-Selch when you need him?”

“Right here.” The voice sounded unimpressed. “You clearly don’t pay enough attention to your surroundings, Elai Khatahdin.”

She span around and stared at him; he was surveying her rather sardonically, eyebrows raised and arms folded. He looked the same as always, very dapper given their current circumstances. The streak of white in his dark hair; his golden eyes; the shape of his mouth as it quirked with wicked humour; it felt as though she’d known him far longer than was accurate.

“You weren’t there a second ago,” she muttered.

“Stating the obvious isn’t likely to advance your argument.” He smirked. “However you were correct in one observation. It’s indeed time to find shelter. The storms here never cease, but one of particularly epic proportions is currently approaching, and we’d do well to take refuge in one of the caves along the cliffs.”

He gestured to his left, and Elai turned to look. The rocks, several hundred fulms distant, were curious in appearance and formation. They resembled nothing so much as columns, of varying height and diameter. It looked as though a giant sculptor had entertained himself for an afternoon or two by carving them into an elaborate facade.

“Come along, let’s not dawdle. You can admire the caves once we’re inside them.” Her companion moved fast when he wanted to, although she would have described his usual gait as deliberate, perhaps even languid. She struggled to keep up with him this time, even wearing a body so similar to her own. And Emet Selch’s eyesight was better than hers also; he took the direct path to a cave that _she_ still couldn’t see even they were practically inside it.

“More caves,” she muttered, looking around. It was dark, but not as dark as it might have been without the constant, lurid lightning. “And more bad weather. I’m sensing a theme. Although the last time …” 

She remembered what he’d said in Allag about the chronology of their meetings and bit her lip. Was this earlier or later than Allag?

He took off his coat, set it carefully on the floor, and sat down on it. “Although the last time …?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” She looked out of the cave at the approaching storm. The clouds churned as though someone stirred then with an enormous invisible spoon. It was spectacular but terrifying. “How come it isn’t raining?”

“Do you truly wish to be roasted alive?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen the state of the ocean. When the rain falls, it falls charged with static. If you’re outside ...well, I’m sure you don’t need me to describe what that does to soft tissue and muscle. Even to bone.”

She moved away from the cave entrance, sitting down closer to him but still out of reach. Just in case. She felt like she trusted him - or ought to trust him - but at the same time he was enigmatic enough to concern her. The floor was rocky and uncomfortable, and she wished _she_ had a coat to sit on. “So what’s causing the storms then?”

“Are you asking me to draw you a diagram?”

“No. I’m asking you to answer a reasonable question.” Talking with him was a tricky business; she never knew what might make him launch himself into oblivion. Conversation over.

“Even one of your meagre talents ought to be able to recognise the Calamity of Lightning, surely?”

Elai gaped. When she realised she was gaping, she closed her mouth quickly. “But that’s …” She shook her head. “The Calamity of Lightning was thousands of years ago.”

He narrowed his eyes. “For you perhaps.”

“Nine thousand years,” Titan’s voice said, deep inside the well of her aether. “Nine thousand years of this star’s travail and pain.”

Elai startled, and Emet Selch looked at her sharply. “You’ve grown since our first meeting.” He frowned. “Your aether is more …”

She wondered how skilled he was at discerning such things. Aether-sight was rare. She hadn’t known she possessed it herself until the fight with Ultima. “More what?” 

He was still frowning. “Just more.”

“More of it, you mean?” She pushed back at him, trying to read his aether in her turn. His eyes narrowed again, but he didn’t complain. If anything, she thought, he looked more interested than offended.

“Along those lines, yes,” he said. She felt something brush against her, although there was nothing there; it was hard to tell if it touched her skin or her mind, but it flustered her enough to back off. Emet Selch still looked at her assessingly. She wanted to ask what had just happened; at the same time she didn’t want to acknowledge anything had. 

“Right ...well …” She floundered around, searching for something - anything - to say. “I might have eaten a couple of primals …”

He sat up. His mouth twitched. She thought - although she wasn’t entirely certain - that it might have been part of a smile. “Accidentally or on purpose?”

“On purpose, of course.”

“Interesting. I presume you had a reason?”

“It was the only solution I could think of at short notice.”

He crossed his ankles and leaned back against the cave wall again. “Just for clarification - if you don’t mind - I presume when you say ‘eaten’ you don’t mean literally?”

She stared at him. “Of course I don’t mean literally. I absorbed their aether.”

“You’re quite the conundrum, Elai Khatahdin.”

“Likewise,” Elai said. “But maybe if we pool our ideas, we can figure out what’s going on? I have so many questions …”

“I’m not fond of speculation.” He yawned. “Presumably we will carry on encountering each other until one of us realises what’s happening. And neither of us have any reason to presume - thus far at least - that our meetings have any significance. Random happenstance is the most likely explanation.”

“But …”

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you’re one of those romantic fools who thinks everything happens for a purpose?” 

"No but…" 

"There _is_ no 'but'. We appear to be flying through time in different directions; what possible reason could there be for that…?" 

"Well look at me, for a start. This isn’t my body. It’s never my body. So whose body is it this time?" 

"I don't see…" 

"Nophica’s tits! Just answer the question." 

Emet Selch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are such a barbarian.”

“And you’re such a prick. Answer the question. Or don’t you know?”

"Your name is J’nae.” His mouth twisted as he spoke; temper, perhaps, or contempt. "You’re still young, if anyone is keeping count of such things, and you are angry and bitter. Your family fled underground when the Calamity came - there was no choice - but disease and pestilence followed. Everyone you love is dead; you fled outside to end your suffering. You would rather die swiftly in the arms of the storm than suffer the same slow, painful demise as your mother and your husband and your son."

“And you don’t give a flying fuck, do you?” Elai said slowly.

“On the contrary.” Emet Selch’s voice was brisk, cold, abrupt. “I don’t care for waste. Why are mortals so fond of despair, so prone to surrendering to it like a lover? If they fought harder, outfaced tragedy, refused to give up …” He clenched his teeth. “But no matter. It isn’t your place to judge me, I do what I must. As does J’nae.” He fixed his eyes on Elai, and they pierced her like a pair of golden daggers. “I am not her keeper, Elai Khatahdin. Neither am I yours.”

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Emet Selch because everything needs more Emet Selch. I know I'm kind of dangling titbits here, but I'm trying to keep a balance between the two of them speculationg about what's going on, what's actually going on, and what they canonically knew in ShB about each other. And I've complicated it for myself because of the time shenanigans so ... yeah ...
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos & comments, you are all very kind


	12. Cold comfort for change?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet does Angst!

Elai expected Emet Selch to disappear after he told her he wasn’t her keeper. It was a suitably dramatic exit line, and he wasn’t prone to lingering once he’d made a point. But he continued to recline on his coat with his eyes closed and his ankles crossed, and she sat and peered at him and waited.

After a while he sighed. “You’re a terrible fidget, Elai Khatahdin.”

“I was waiting for you to leave.”

He opened his eyes. “That’s not very polite.”

“I’m confused.”

“Are you not used to that by now?”

She looked at him and wished, albeit briefly, that she had the power to turn him to stone. She imagined doing it. She imagined pushing a stone Emet Selch outside into the rain. It made her feel better. It also gave her the strength of will not to reply to his taunt.

He pouted. “You’re no fun, Elai Khatahdin.”

“On the contrary. I’m a great deal of fun in the right company.”

“Are you calling me the wrong company?”

“Apparently so, Emet Selch.”

He sat up, so quickly it made her jump, which rather spoiled the impression of cold aloofness she was aiming for. “Well these are hardly the right circumstances for relaxed and convivial conversation.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Come along.”

She looked at him, and then at his hand. “Come along where?”

“If you take my hand, then you’ll see.”

“I thought going outside was …”

“We’re not going outside.” His eyes gleamed in the half-light and made her even more nervous. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” she huffed, even though she knew he was playing her. And it was true, she wasn’t scared. She didn’t know _why_ he didn’t frighten her - especially given the strangeness that attended all their meetings - and she wondered if she’d regret it one day, but it was still the truth.

He waggled his fingers, and she reached out and took his hand. He pulled her closer, at the same time as he snapped the fingers on the other hand. She was disoriented for a moment - giddy - and her vision blurred. When she could see again, they were no longer in the cave.

“Nophica’s tits!” Elai swore. “Where are we? Whadd’ya do?”

Emet Selch smirked. “I moved us.”

“So I see. To where? And how?” It couldn’t be a teleport spell; there was no aetheryte, and even if there had been, it wasn’t one she was attuned to, it couldn’t be. Could it …? She scowled at Emet Selch.

“Just a small talent of mine.” His smirk made his false modesty obvious. “I was tired of that cave. Don’t worry; we haven’t gone far, at least not in the sense that concerns you. I don’t have your enviable ability to whip through time. And I will make sure to put J’nae back in the cave before she wakes; if she still means to do something dramatic, I won’t interfere. But I thought that you and I, Elai Khatahdin, would find it more comfortable here. Would you care for a drink?”

Elai chewed her bottom lip - she was still nervous, and she still wanted to know how he’d moved them, exactly - but she also wanted a drink. If only to see what he produced. The space where she found herself was ...intriguing. If she hadn’t just been in a cold, dimly-lit cave in a thunderstorm, she would have described it as spartan. Elegant but spartan. “What kind of drink?”

“Do you have a preference?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Sure. A glass of oak-aged, single malt, Coerthan whisky please. No ice.”

“I’m good,” he said. “But I’m not that good. Will a generic, oak-aged, single malt whisky suffice?”

“You don’t have Coerthan?”

“I never _heard_ of Coerthan, I can’t produce something when I don’t know what it is.”

Interesting. He said produced like he was going outside to distil the whisky there and then. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back shortly.” He flapped his fingers at her again. “Feel free to snoop ...I mean, explore …”

And something approaching a sense of humour. Who would have thought it?

Elai moved over to the large window at the side of the room. They were high up - which didn’t surprise her, Emet Selch seemed fond of heights - and apparently in the side of a mountain. The storm still raged outside; the view was spectacular, although she doubted the rest of humanity - huddled in their holes underground - shared her aesthetic appreciation. There was a door on the other side of the space where Emet Selch had exited to fetch the whisky; other than that, there was a plain wooden desk and a chair, shelves that contained an array of leather bound books, and a large, scuffed, very comfortable-looking leather armchair next to the window. The walls were painted dark red and hung with abstract paintings. The floors were pale wood. 

Elai picked up one of the books from the shelves but, when she opened it, there were no pages. All the others she checked were the same. The books on the desk, however - old and mostly falling apart - were as they should be. She flicked through one called ‘Advanced Creation Magicks; An Introductory Analysis’. After the preface - which was an extended paragraph of thanks to other researchers and contributors including ‘the current Emet Selch’ - the author set off on a long ramble through the dangers and pitfalls of said creation magicks. As an introduction, it was almost guaranteed to put off anyone interested in pursuing the subject further.

“I see you discovered the books,” Emet Selch observed from behind her.

Elai put down the ancient volume very carefully. Boring it might be, but it was probably a very valuable antique. “I did. I’m always on the hunt for something that will help explain what’s happening to me. Why don’t the ones on the shelves have any pages?”

He handed her a glass. It was cut crystal, and the whisky inside smelled heavenly, smoky and woodsy. “I’ve read a very large number of books in my time, and I can’t recall them word for word. The thought of reproducing all that scholarship - especially reproducing it inexpertly - makes my soul shudder.”

He’d changed his clothes as well as bringing her whisky. The coat had gone; instead he was wearing a long, straight robe over baggy trews, and his feet were bare. The neck of the robe was open and edged with embroidery. The sight of his skin and his bare feet made something catch in her throat. She found that she wanted to put her mouth on the hollow at the base of his neck and taste him; somehow she knew he would taste very like the whisky, fiery and intoxicating.

Elai clutched her glass. “So ...ah ...you made all the empty ones yourself? That must have taken ages. I mean ...well ...this whole place must have taken ages …”

“You’ll spill your drink,” he said. 

She knew she was blushing. Seven hells, she never blushed! Yes, he was pretty and right now she was hot to jump his bones, but that would probably be one of the stupidest things she ever did. He was so achingly attractive just _because_ he was so mysterious. And powerful. And intelligent. And sophisticated ...

Elai turned away and put her glass down on the desk. “Do you have …” She cleared her throat. “Do you have any books that might explain my Echo to me?”

Emet Selch’s voice lashed back at her like an icy whip. “What did you say?”

She reached for her falchion instinctively although J’nae wore no weapons. When she looked at him, he’d gone from temptation to terrifying; he seemed bigger, somehow, and his shadow loomed against the wall in a way it hadn’t before. “I ...ahhh …” Damn it, _why_ didn’t she have any weapons? Even a stone would have helped. “Is something wrong? Wh ...what happened?”

“What. Did. You. Say?” He ground the words out on a growl.

She groped behind her on the desk for her glass. If nothing else, she could chuck the whisky in his face. “I ...I asked if you had any books ...books about my Echo.”

“Who told you that name?”

“What name? I don’t ...I don’t understand.”

“Echo.” When he said it, on a low note that reverberated through her bones, it felt as though the star itself trembled. “Who sent you and told you to say that name?”

Elai was as frightened as she’d ever been - as frightened as at Carteneau - but she was also completely at a loss. “It’s not ...it’s not a name. It’s a thing …”

“_A thing_?” he roared. “How dare you speak to me thus?”

“Nophica’s tits!” she roared back, temper overtaking terror. “I dare it because I don’t have a _fucking clue_ what your problem is. One minute we’re all ‘whoohoo, it’s a touch warm in here _seductive_’ and the next you look like you want to rip my throat out because I said ‘echo’? Shut up, I’m talking. No one sent me. Or rather if anyone _did_ send me, it’s my fucking Echo.”

“She isn’t …”

Elai stared at him. “She who? Who’s she?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Echo.”

“There isn’t a ‘she’, Emet Selch. The Echo is a ...a thing. I’m sorry, I know that’s a trigger for some reason, but I don’t know what else to call it. People like me - people who can battle primals because they can’t temper us - we can do what we do because of our Echo.” She sighed. “Probably. I mean ...I’m hardly an expert.” She still watched him carefully; he still had his fists clenched, and there was a mad flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t seem quite so ready to pounce. “My Echo gives me visions - usually stuff that’s already happened, and usually for a reason, even if I don’t always know what the reason is - and that’s why I think it’s the Echo that’s sending me to you … Gods, what did I say _now_ …?”

He shook his head and tossed back his whisky in one gulp.

Elai let out a careful breath. “Are you ...are you okay?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

It was like trying to walk across a field strewn with ceruleum explosives. “This ...ahhh …” Probably best not to say ‘echo’ again. “...This she person is someone you know?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“You were on the verge of tearing my throat out, but you don’t wish to discuss why?”

“Exactly so.”

“If we talked about it, we might be able to work out what’s going on.”

“I know what’s going on,” he snarled. “Echo is dead. Nothing else matters.”

He surged past her, pushing her out of the way. Before she had time to speak or even to steady herself, he threw himself out of the window, shattering the glass into a thousand glittering shards. Elai screamed - she couldn’t help herself, part of it was shock and part was the hail of sharp-cut crystal falling around her - and rushed over to the ledge to look for him. He was, of course, nowhere to be seen.

“Talk about melodramatic,” she muttered.

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Echo, as you probably know, is the name of a mountain nymph in Greek mythology. She fell in love with a self-obsessed idiot called Narcissus. When I was pondering a suitable Greek name for this character - given that she's the 14th Convocation member and Hades' love and passion - it suddenly became obvious to me me that she's called Echo. And, yes, she is where the Echo comes from. More development around that as the story progresses (yes I'm still working it out in my head ...)  
Thanks, as always, for your lovely kudos and comments


	13. Did you exchange a walk on part in the war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Labyrinth of the Ancients

Kettle watched as Lily sat on the breakfast table in the kitchen eating pancakes with maple syrup. She’d made room for herself amidst all the detritus piled up there - that morning’s breakfast plates and coffee cups; two empty cake tins; a pile of someone’s clothing that had been clean a couple of days ago but probably wasn’t anymore; numerous pens and pieces of paper; several flyers announcing the next appearance of Franz the Fair at the Colosseum; and a broken fishing rod that everyone refused to claim.

Archie curled on the floor at Lily’s feet, looking up hopefully at the plate she was nursing. The warm smell of the batter and the sunshine of the syrup were impossible to ignore, even for Kettle, who didn’t have a sweet tooth; she closed the accounts ledger she’d been trying to tally and put down her quill. 

“Are there more pancakes, Godric, if you please?” she asked politely. Politeness was important. Even when you were nominally the person in charge. Kettle was working on her politeness despite the constant provocation of the other Company members.

Godric turned around to nod. “If Lily would stop feeding hers to that blue squirrel, you’d have some already."

“Archie’s no squirrel,” Lily protested. “He’s a unique and fabulous arcane marvel. Aren’t you, my pet?” The carbuncle sat up on its hind legs - in a fashion not un-squirrel-like - and begged for more pancake. “Oh Kettle? Did you finish your accounts? I wanted to tell you about something that happened in Mor Dhona.”

Kettle hadn’t finished her accounts, but she was prepared to be distracted. “I’m listening."

“Well ...There was this strange man, you see …”

The Viera sighed. People’s tales always started like that lately, and it always led to trouble. Sometimes she felt more like the head teacher of a nursery school than the leader of a band of brave adventurers. “Does this ‘ave an un’appy ending?”

Lily looked confused. “Not as far as I know. I mean ...it’s not finished yet, that’s why I need to talk to you. Are you going to listen, or are you going to keep on interrupting?”

“Once is not ‘keep on’.”

“It’s still rude.”

Kettle considered for a moment and then nodded. It was indeed rude. She’d worry about jumping in and rescuing Lily from impetuous idiocy once she was sure it was needed. She had enough _actual_ worries these days without inventing more.

“So …” Lily continued, swinging her legs back and forth as she tried to tell her story and finish her pancake. “This man - he was wearing a mask, by the way, which immediately made me suspicious - was looking for the Warrior of Light.”

Kettle snorted but didn’t say anything. Tales that included the Warrior of Light always turned nasty, at least in Kettle’s experience. Especially tales that started ‘there was this strange man …’ She’d never met anyone as good as Elai at finding trouble to fall into.

“Why did he want Elai?” Godric asked. He flipped another pancake onto a plate and passed it over to Kettle, along with a bowl of syrup.

“I’m getting to that,” Lily said. “He said he had a ...a truly unique opportunity …” She waved her hands in the air in order to express the enormous uniqueness of which the man spoke. The remains of her pancake fell off the plate, and Archie leapt upon it. “...An opportunity the likes of which only someone as marvellous as Elai could take advantage. Archie, you thieving baggage, get away from my pancake …" 

Kettle snorted again.

Lily took no notice. “Of course I didn’t tell him I knew Elai, although I reckon he was probably aware. He struck me as the sort who’d nose around beforehand. But I thought it could only help if I found out everything I could. He said it involved the accumulated knowledge of a fallen civilisation ...Kettle, please stop snorting, it’s not attractive. I know he was talking nonsense. I was just trying to find out what was going on.”

Kettle folded her arms. “Well, what fallen civilisation did ‘e mean?”

“He didn’t say.”

“What was ‘is name then?”

“He didn’t say that either.”

Kettle sighed very heavily instead of snorting. “You are not much ‘elp, Lilani.”

“Then just let me finish the story. He told me to go and speak to a man called Rammbroes at a place called Saint Coinach’s Find. So I asked around the Toll, and Saint Coinach’s Find is a camp down by Silvertear Lake. It’s near that enormous crystalline tower that shot up out of the ground after the Calamity.”

Kit looked up from the armour he was cleaning. “Yeah, I know the place. Great for hunting hippocerfs. Their skins sell real good right now. Me and Giggy go down there a lot. Pretty sure I’ve spoken to this Rammbroes guy a couple of times too.”

Lily nodded. “Probably you have. Folk at the Toll said the head man is a Roegadyn by that name. The camp is the headquarters of some kind of weird group called the Children of Saint Coinach or something …”

“Crazies then?” Kettle asked. “Like those sheep?”

Everyone looked puzzled.

“Sheep?” Kit said. “You mean the karakul in Coerthas?”

Really? They had memories like firelight goldfish. “No …The sheep in the Deepcroft.”

“Kettle, there weren’t any sheep in the ...Bahamut’s hairy balls, you mean the Lambs of Dalamud, don’t you?”

“That’s what I said.”

Godric stared at her, and she swore she saw his lip quiver. She dared him to laugh. He cleared his throat. “Ahem ...the Sons of Saint Coinach aren’t crazies. Sons, by the way, Lil. Not children. And I know Rammbroes. Good man. A bit scholarly for my tastes, but he can swing an axe well enough.”

Kit moved closer to the table and sat down sideways on the bench next to Kettle. “I’ve heard of them too. That friend of Elai’s - the one teaching her more summoning magicks? - she’s one of them. They’re all really into stuff about ancient Allag.”

“Well the man in the mask still bothers me,” Lily said. “I don’t _think_ he was an Ascian but ...well ...better safe than sorry, right? Especially if we’re going to tell Elai about it. Don’t want to lead her into a trap or anything. So we should check it out, yeah?”

She beamed at all of them. Kit and Godric beamed back.

Kettle picked up her ledgers and her quill from the kitchen table. She was tempted to pretend that being torn away from her accounts was distressing, but she knew no one would believe her. “Very well. We’ll go tomorrow and investigate. Us four only though, Ardent needs to stay ‘ere and watch the ‘ouse. I caught two Miqo’te in the garden this morning trying to steal washing from the line.” She minced across the kitchen, waving an imaginary tail with one hand and carrying her ledgers with the other. “Oooo, dearie, may’ap these underthings belong to the Warrior of Light!”

Kit grinned. “Yeah, recruitment shot up since folks found out Elai was part of the Ruly Gentlemen.”

“I don’t want Elai’s groupies in the Free Company, Kitten.”

He shrugged. “To be fair, I don’t think Elai does either.”

“No. That is true.” Fairness was very important, as well as politeness. Especially in a leader. Elai was enough to try the patience of a saint - Eorzean or otherwise - but Kettle was determined to treat her fairly. “And they are not all ‘opeless either, these newcomers. A couple ‘ave been talented mages. I don’t know why they talk of Elai as if she is some goddess though …”

Lily slid down off the table and scooped up Archie. “That won’t last. Not once she’s bawled them out for calling her the Warrior of Light.”

Kettle sniffed. “Or when they ‘ave seen ‘er with an ‘angover …”

When they arrived in Mor Dhona the following morning the sky was roiling with a queer violet and rose mist that seemed to glitter and surge all the time. It was that creepy, screechy, tension weather, the kind that made you wish you could go back indoors and curl up on the sofa. Kettle hated it. She liked to think she had no imagination - she couldn’t understand why some people said 'no imagination' like it was an insult, imagination cause no end of trouble - but even _she_ could hear voices wailing in the not-wind and picture ghostly eyes watching from the mist.

She shuddered and pulled up the collar of her coat. “Where is ‘e, Lilani? Your mystery man?”

“Well, he was outside the tavern.” Lily turned around in a slow circle. “But I don’t see him now. I mean ...I don’t think he would stand there for two whole days and nights, would he?”

“If he was an Ascian, he might,” Kit said. “What did he look like, Lil?”

“He had a mask on!” The Lalafell sounded exasperated.

“Yeah, I know, you said. But did it cover his whole face? What colour was his hair? What was he wearing?”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Umm ...I don’t really remember. I was kind of fascinated by the mask. Pretty sure it only covered his eyes though. And he was ...probably blond. Not a Lalafell. Or an Au Ra or a Hrothgar.”

Kettle sighed again and looked around the small plaza that surrounded the aetheryte. For somewhere in the back of beyond, the Toll was crowded with people. A lot more than the last time she passed through, although that was moons ago. It looked like they’d been building the place up. And it probably wasn’t going to be easy to track down one man amidst the bustle and business. Even if he _was_ the only one wearing a mask.

“We’ll ‘ire chocobos,” she announced. “And ride down to this Camp of Saint Connor.”

“Coinach,” Kit said. “Sons of Saint Coinach.”

“Yes, yes.” Lambs, sheep. Connor, Coinach. Kit worried far too much about words. “No doubt your masked stranger will be there, Lilani. Laughing about ‘ow ‘e tricked so many strangers into rushing to assist ‘im.”

Lily gave her a look - one that promised retribution at some point in the future - but Kettle pretended not to see it. The sooner they rode down to the camp, the sooner they’d find it all nonsense, and the sooner they could leave. The tension weather was very aptly named. It made her feel as though someone had an arrow cocked and ready to fire, right into the tender spot at the top of her spine. Nor did the expense of three chocobos - especially one large enough to carry Godric - make her feel any more cheerful.

There was a clearly marked road - one she didn’t remember seeing before - that circled around the shore of Silvertear Lake and then dived towards the foot of the Crystal Tower. Neither lake nor tower helped to lighten Kettle’s mood. The lake always had an eerie reputation, and the vast, petrified remains of the dragon at its centre only enhanced the spectral atmosphere. And, if one _ever_ managed to look away and elsewhere, there was the thrusting crystalline pinnacle of the Tower, equally eerie and even more inexplicable. Mor Dhona gave Kettle too many things to think about that she preferred not to consider at all. Mysteries were well and good in books. Much less enjoyable in real life.

It was something of an anti-climax - Kettle was still working on ‘fair’ so she didn’t call it an annoyance - to reach Saint Coinach’s Find and discover Elai already there. Not only already there but already up to her elbows in the Sons’ mysterious scheme.

Even Lily looked a little crestfallen. “We wanted to surprise you!”

“Well you have,” Elai said, not looking surprised in the slightest. “I mean, I didn’t expect you to turn up in Mor Dhona.”

“We wanted to bring you an interesting mystery that we could help you solve!”

Kettle sniffed. No one had previously mentioned the Ruly Gentlemen getting involved to that degree. “I thought we were just making sure it wasn’t Ascians… ”

Elai frowned at her. “Ascians?”

“There was a masked man,” Lily said quickly.

“Oh. Him. Yeah, don’t know who that was. My money was on G’raha Tia - he loves annoying practical jokes - but I don’t think he’s tall enough.”

Kit looked interested. “G’raha Tia? A Miqo’te?”

“An arrogant, exasperating Miqo’te who always thinks he knows best.”

“So ...like you then?” Kettle said. The words leapt out of her mouth before she could stop them. Elai frowned at her again, and then she grinned.

“Valid point,” she said. “Anyway, it isn’t Ascians as far as I know, though that’s always a possibility. It’s Allagans instead. The Crystal Tower specifically.” She turned and looked at the glittering shard that loomed above them. Everyone else looked too, although staring up at the crystalline walls as they disappeared into the mists made Kettle feel dizzy. “Cid Garlond and the Ironworks are involved too, if that reassures you at all, Kettle. Given the trouble Dalamud and the Ultima Weapon caused, we don’t want to risk any more Allagan tech falling into the wrong hands. Apparently the Tower is definitely Allagan; Rammbroes or G’raha can give you the details if you’re interested, I wasn’t really listening to the explanation.”

There was a note in Elai’s voice that didn’t sit with what she was saying. Kettle glanced at her and noticed Lily doing the same. The Warrior looked tired - no doubt the Sons had her running around doing errands for them, she never seemed to know how to say no - but otherwise she appeared much the same. Except that she'd cut her long hair; it now feathered onto her face in pixie fashion although the streaks of white on black remained. And she'd abandoned the battered leather armour for something a lot more expensive. The body piece, which covered her from throat to mid-calf, was Eastern in style, all bronze plate and dark red leather; it matched the studded greaves and gloves and reflected the gleam of the falchion on her back. The skirts of the body piece were slit at each side and sometimes, as she moved, there would fall the smallest glimpse of pale thighs above the greaves. Kettle hated to admit it, but the armour managed to be both practical _and_ alluring. 

“You look different,” she said. "Tidier." 

Kit choked. "Tidier isn't the exact word that comes to mind." 

"No indeed," Godric agreed. "I think the word you're looking for is provocative, Kettle." 

Elai wrinkled her nose. “Well it's not supposed to be provocative, tidier is more what we were going for. Lily …” She scowled at the Lalafell. “... Made me go shopping. Apparently the Warrior of Light can’t walk around …” She drew quotation marks in the air. “... Looking like a hobo. This is based on the gear the Sekiseigumi wear. "

“The Sekiseigumi” Kit said. “Clearly don't have legs like yours.”

“They don’t need to whirl about as much as I do,” Elai acknowledged. “The split skirt was my addition to the design. I suppose I could wear kecks instead of shorts but …”

Kit shook his head. “No, no. I’m not complaining. Absolutely not complaining.”

Godric winked at the Warrior. “Neither am I.”

Kettle was unconvinced. But she was a free paladin; wearing as much plate armour as possible was almost part of the job description. “Well as long as it’s practical …”

“Don’t worry. It’s practical. I trialled it when I fought Ramuh, and it was real comfortable. Deflects blows better than the leather stuff too.” She scowled at Lily. “Although you never heard me say that, Lalafell.”

Lily grinned. But Kettle wasn’t going to be deflected. “You trialled it against a _primal_?”

“Yeah …”

“You are demented.”

“I thought that was a given,” Elai pointed out. “So, the Crystal Tower, guys? Cid’s issued the go-ahead to start clearing out the initial defences.” She looked around at the four of them. “Anyone fancy coming with me?”

“Yes please,” Lily said instantly.

Kit nodded. “Sure.”

“Count me in,” Godric replied. “I expect you’ll need a healer after all.”

Kettle sighed. They so loved rushing headlong into trouble without considering the consequences. Or who was covering their expenses.

Elai grinned at her as if she read her mind. “You’ll get paid, Kettle, never fret.”

# \------------

At the base of the tower stood a maze of defensive passages and stairways that the Sons had named the Labyrinth of the Ancients. It formed an outer layer of protection around the door into the tower proper and was full - unsurprisingly - of all kinds of monsters and machina. The preponderance of voidsent and undead was something of a shock however.

They retreated rapidly on their first foray, after discovering the rooms crawling with imps and succubi and ahriman. It wasn’t that the foes they faced were individually fearsome, just that their numbers threatened to overwhelm Elai and the others. She suggested Kettle call on the rest of the Ruly Gentlemen to help - the ones who weren’t raw beginners, of course - and with the extra assistance they managed to clear the first couple of hurdles.

The hallways and chambers they passed through were vast; so huge - in fact - that Elai found herself wondering if the Allagans had been giants. The architecture felt excessively monumental for something that was - in essence - just a series of traps and gates, and the dissonance troubled her. It also reminded her a little too much of the Garlean fondness for monumental architectural statements. Of course it was no secret that many high-ranking Garleans considered themselves heirs of the Allagan empire; how they had come to inherit _quite_ so much Allagan tech was another question entirely.

Elai heard the Ruly Gentlemen whispering amongst themselves as they traversed the start of the labyrinth. They huddled together, tiny figures dwarfed by the great stone walls around them, looking up, and behind, and in front as if they expected something monstrous to leap out at any second.

She paused where she stood, at the back of the group, and called out to Kettle. “Kettle, d'you want to send the others back to Cid and G'raha with an update? We can scout ahead for a couple of hours, see what we’ve got to deal with next. I reckon the five of us can deal with anything that tries to ambush us.”

"Famous last words," Godric observed dryly. 

She looked at him, lowering her voice. "Yeah, I know, but I don't want to take people in any deeper than we have to. This is the first time some of them have done anything like this, and I don’t want to break their nerve.” She called out again. “What do you reckon, Kettle?" 

"Already sorted," Kettle replied. "I spoke to Cid on the linkpearl, ‘e is waiting with the Miqo’te at the first gate. The Miqo'te is itching to get inside, but I said 'e must wait. We are still long from the door, I think." 

Elai nodded. "Yeah. Very long." G'raha exasperated her; he'd made a very bad first impression and then neglected to put it right. Instead of informing her he was Rammbroes' missing colleague, he sent her on a wild dodo chase all around Urth's Gift, and generally behaved in such an eccentric fashion she genuinely suspected he was some kind of Ascian minion. He hadn't improved much on later acquaintance; his eagerness to get into the tower didn't help lull her suspicion of his motives. She did understand his impatience up to a point although her own was far more personal in nature. She didn't care about Allagan secrets, she just wanted answers about Emet Selch. "I think it's probably going to take a few days to get there if I'm honest. But one step at a time, right?”

While Kettle organised the bulk of the group into a return party, the others took the opportunity to grab a rest and something to eat and drink. It wasn’t the most comfortable of camping spots; the great hallways were eerily quiet, and they all sat with their backs against the stone wall so that nothing could creep up behind them. It wasn’t conducive to relaxation. Elai unwrapped some walnut bread from her pack - she had no idea how old it was but she needed the energy boost - and broke off pieces to chew upon. Kit offered her half of his muffin.

"Nothing in the next chamber except a big dragon," Lily announced, interrupting them. "I sent Archie up ahead to take a look. He's a great scout." She patted the carbuncle on the top of his head. "Though when Archie says ‘big’, it might not actually be that big, I guess?" 

"Well everything else here is huge." Kit brushed muffin crumbs off his armour. "I mean, the rooms look like there’s plenty of space for a really big dragon, right? So I’m opting for a really big dragon. In the hope I’ll be disappointed." 

Elai stood up and shook off her own crumbs. “Let’s go take a look, Kit.”

“Yeah, right, that’s _bound_ to go well.”

“Don’t be such a wuss.”

He followed her down the passageway. She could hear him grumbling quietly to himself. After a while he said, “I feel so small. Like, really insignificant, you know? I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” Elai agreed. “But the Allagans probably did it on purpose.” She put a finger to her lips. “Looks like the walls open out in a few fulms. Stick to the sides, and we’ll see what we can see.”

Elai crept around to the left, Kit to the right. The chamber seemed to form a large circle with staggered steps down to a lower level. There were several - slightly elevated - platforms on the lower level, the largest one in the centre. The dragon lay on the platform furthest away, its head on its huge front claws. It had its eyes closed and resembled nothing so much as a very large and toothsome hound taking a much needed nap. Poor thing was probably bored …

Elai edged a little closer and then froze as one large, yellow eye opened. She held her breath and resisted the temptation to close her own eyes; just because she couldn’t see the dragon, didn’t mean the dragon couldn’t see her. The beast opened its cavernous mouth and yawned widely. A noxious smell seeped through the air.

At precisely that moment there was a loud clatter as Kit somehow fell down the steps on the other side of the chamber, pursued by three tall, skeletal warriors. The dragon’s yawn turned into a fully-fledged roar, and the lower level of the chamber began to fill with a foul purple liquid that stank even worse than the dragon’s breath.

“Fuck,” Elai muttered and took off across the floor to haul Kit to his feet and flee back down the passageway.

They ran like frightened dodos, not looking behind them; the eldritch screeches of the skeletons were more than enough to warn of pursuit. Half way back to the corner where they’d rested, they ran into Godric, Lily, and Archie rushing in the opposite direction.

Elai grabbed hold of Lily’s shoulder. “Go, go, go.”

Godric executed a remarkably agile about-turn for such a large male and thundered down the hall behind them.

Slowly the shrieks of the skeletons started to fade, and Elai slowed her headlong pace, eventually coming to a halt and bending over, hands on her sides. “Seven hells.”

“What did you _do_?” Lily squeaked.

Kit sank to his knees, breathing heavily. He was wearing plate armour - much heavier than Elai’s mix of plate and leather - which was not designed for running any distance. “Three of those ...those things jumped out at me. No idea where they were hiding, frightened the life out of me. I backed up fast and fell down the steps …”

Elai throttled a grin. It wasn’t funny although … Nope, it really wasn’t funny. And Kettle would be furious when she heard.

“Let’s not tell Kettle, hmmm?” Lily said.

“I ‘eard that,” the Viera replied, stalking towards them. “What ‘ave you done now? It’s not safe to leave any of you alone for even the space of a breath, I swear it.”

Elai tried to look suitably penitent. “It was my fault, Kettle. I’m really sorry. I got impatient, and it was stupid. Kit even told me it was stupid, and I ignored him.”

“Hrmph.” Kettle treated everyone to a cold stare. “They could ‘ave refused to go with you.”

“She’s the Warrior of Light,” Godric said. “People don’t tell her no.”

“Buffalo-shite,” Elai snapped.

Lily put her hands over her ears and started to hum tunelessly. Elai took a deep breath, counted to ten, and began apologising again. “Sorry, Godric. Shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just hate all the Warrior of Light crap. And Kettle, I was an idiot, please forgive me.” She peered up at Kettle hopefully. “Can we try it again? Properly this time?”

“I was joking by the way,” Godric said into the ensuing silence. “About people not telling the Warrior of Light no.” He sounded surprisingly mild, Elai thought, given how she’d snapped at him.

“I know,” she replied. “I mean, it’s kind of true but not really.” She sighed. “It’s complicated. And I hate it.” She looked over at Kettle again; the Viera was still watching them all with a stony expression on her face. “I really am sorry, Kettle.”

“Yes. I know.”

Elai tried a tentative smile. Kettle didn’t smile back, but she did nod.

“Well, we should probably press on, right?” Kit said. “See if we can deal with the dragon. And the skeletons. And the poison lake on floor …”

Kettle straightened her shoulders. “You ‘ad better fill me in.”

Elai let Kit deal with the exposition; she reckoned the less she rattled Kettle’s cage, the better. And the Viera was far and away the superior tactician. Elai could strategise mid-battle but only on her own behalf. As a war-leader, she was a bust. Her battle frenzy made her oblivious to her allies; she became so focused on her own objectives - victory over her foe, often at any cost - that she could sometimes be as deadly to her friends as her enemies.

“‘Ow many skeletons?” Kettle asked.

Kit shrugged. “Three jumped me, but I think there were more.”

“A few more? Several more?”

“Several. At least.”

“Hmmm.” Kettle tapped her lips with one finger. “Then you must collect up the skeletons, Kitten, I think. Bring them all together in the centre, that way we can avoid the poison water. Elai can ‘old the dragon, yes?” She quirked an eyebrow at Elai.

Elai nodded. “Yeah. But I think my egi can probably hold the dragon if we’re going to deal with the skellies first.”

“Your egi?”

“Oh right, yes. I forgot you didn’t know about that.” She closed her eyes - it had become part of the ritual now, even though Y’mhitra told her it wasn’t necessary - and began to summon Titan’s aetherial essence. Of all three primals, Titan was the easiest to deal with. Indeed it was almost amicable, at least compared with the other two. Ifrit was irritable and bad-tempered, always testing the limits of what it could get away with, and Garuda was just plain crazy.

She felt the egi take shape beside her, manifesting with the aetherial equivalent of a loud pop.

Kettle took several steps backwards. “Seven ‘ells!”

“What the fuck is it?” Godric demanded.

Titan rumbled audibly, and the Hrothgar also took several steps back. Archie chittered at the egi. Titan looked down at the carbuncle. Archie lifted up its paw and shielded its eyes - an almost human looking gesture - and Titan rumbled again. This time it sounded remarkably like a chuckle.

“It’s an egi,” Elai said.

Kit frowned. “It looks like a giant …” Titan rumbled yet again. “A giant rock …”

Elai grinned. “It has its basis in earth-based aether, yeah.” At the same time, she sent a thought towards the primal, deep in the well of her aether, “These are our allies. We fight to defeat our foes, but also to protect these ones.” Titan understood about protecting his children. “It is our special charge, to see them safe.”

“I shall keep the puny ones safe,” the primal boomed back at her.

“What is an egi?” Kettle demanded.

“Tis a summon,” Lily replied. “Somewhat like Archie but more …” Archie chittered again. Lily grinned. “ ...More earth-based.”

“Right …”

“It’s good at ...well at tanking, for want of a better word,” Elai explained. “It can keep the dragon’s attention while we deal with the skellies. Once I give it a command - in this case to pull the dragon away and keep it away - it’ll do it until …” She hesitated.

“Until it goes poof,” Lily finished for her. “The egi, not the dragon, at least in this instance.” The Lalafell smiled at Elai. “Elai still has issues seeing her arcane constructs as disposable.”

Elai thought Lily would probably have trouble seeing Archie as disposable if the Lalafell could talk to it inside her own head. But she didn’t say that aloud. Amongst the very many things she didn’t tell other people, she didn’t tell them about the three primals that now seemed to live in her aether.

Life seemed to get more complicated on a daily basis lately ...

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another of those 'hmmm, not sure' chapters. I wanted to include CT and a bit of G'raha Tia because of his later relevance in game, I also wanted to do another chapter about the Ruly Gentlemen. Not sure if this moves too far away from the main meat of my tale however. Slow burn is an understatement lol.
> 
> Please let me know what you think


	14. For a lead role in a cage?

Once or twice a month Haurchefant Greystone, bastard son of House Fortemps, rode his black battle chocobo up to the city to dine with his family. These occasions were always something of a trial - not because he disliked his family, or they him - but because there were many muddy currents of conversation it was best not to dive in to, many topics best ignored. Unfortunately his younger brother had neither tact nor discretion and, though Haurchefant loved Emmanellain dearly, he always left the Fortemps manor feeling tired and harried. 

Lately he tried to direct the conversation into talk of deeds of the Warrior of Light, surely an inoffensive subject for a dinner conversation. But it seemed Emmanellain merely wanted to hear about her eyes and her hair and other endowments - which made Count Edmont frown - and Artoirel sniffed and declined to be interested in the exploits of a common adventurer. Haurchefant continued to wax lyrical about how splendid and magnificent a creature the Warrior was, however, until they made it to the dessert menu, and he was free to escape to the Forgotten Knight for the evening.

His declared destination was always the inn, but in fact that was just a ploy. He inevitably detoured to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly - a most fitting description now that it claimed Aymeric de Borel as its Lord Commander - to chivvy his old friend away from his desk and the reams of paperwork that lurked there. He was aided in this endeavour by Lucia, Aymeric’s second in command, and also by the Azure Dragoon when Estinien was available.

This night he ran into Estinien on one of the paths down from the Pillars. As usual the Azure was lurking in the shadows, out of sight of anyone who might be tempted to talk to him. Not that anyone would be that foolish, of course. Even Haurchefant - Estinien’s second-oldest friend after Aymeric - wouldn’t press the dragoon into conversation uninvited. Well, not unless Haurchefant was drunk. Or Estinien was. Drunk, they each would importune the other for a great many things they didn’t discuss while sober.

Estinien dropped down in front of Haurchefant from one of the rooftops nearby. Haurchefant’s hand moved instinctively towards his sword, then stilled when he recognised the spiky drachen armour. “Your propensity for dropping in is always flattering, Estinien.”

The dragoon rose gracefully to his full height. “Twas aggression, fool, not flattery.”

“Pray forgive me.” The Lord of Dragonhead pretended shock. “Tis too easy to confuse the two. Your bites are so like kisses …”

Estinien growled, and Haurchefant laughed at him.

“Are you here for Aymeric?” Estinien demanded. “Or merely to irritate and exasperate me.”

“I am wounded.” Hauchefant clutched at his chest, above his heart, and pretended indignation. Except that Estinien never believed it; he claimed to have known Haurchefant far too long and to read all his moods with ease. It was distressing, really; Haurchefant would have much preferred to be enigmatic.

Estinien gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t sulk. It doesn’t become you.”

“Mayhap I should practice my pouting then.”

“If you plan on pouting, I’ll leave you here. Save your antics for the Warrior of Light, I hear she has great patience with them.”

Haurchefant cackled with delight. “That sounds like jealousy, oaf.”

“Everything sounds like jealousy to you, you mountebank. Come, we’ll rescue Aymeric from the trials of his office, he will welcome us with delight and then feel obliged to entertain us.”

“A cunning plan,” agreed Haurchefant.

“Hardly cunning, since we do the same each time.”

“It continues to work, however.”

Estinien shrugged. “Only because the Lord Commander is too good-natured to turn us out into the snow instead of offering us his hospitality.”

“Nonetheless ‘tis good for him. If not for us, he’ll work himself into a decline, and we’ll find ourselves with that idiot Zepherin in his place.”

“A valid point,” Estinien conceded. “Pity Ishgard then, indeed. Let us proceed apace.”

They made their way down from the Pillars to the Congregation, Estinien prowling ahead like a beast on a hunt. It entertained Haurchefant to watch how passers-by crossed to the other side of the path to avoid him; the Azure Dragoon had an uncomfortable reputation, being as likely to erupt aggressively if any spoke to him as to nod and move on. He could be perfectly charming when he chose but seldom did so. Even with Aymeric and Haurchefant he was often surly and gruff. That he wore the spiky drachen armour always, and rarely removed even his helm, only heightened the notion that he was a dangerous creature to cross.

There were folk in the piazza before the Congregation building, but most were coming or going from the Forgotten Knight. All avoided Estinien; one or two nodded to Haurchefant. For Ishgard it was what passed for a balmy evening, despite being almost the ninth bell; late spring, the cloudy sky still touched with the lacy edges of twilight. A group of younger men hung around by the noticeboard outside the Forgotten Knight, looking for work no doubt. Haurchefant cast an eye over them; he was always happy to recruit any likely candidates for the garrison at Dragonhead. ‘Twas not a job for a man - or woman - with family unless they didn’t mind deserting them in the city for weeks at a time.

“Stop dawdling,” Estinien muttered. “We’re not here to socialise.”

Haurchefant quirked an eyebrow. “Strictly speaking, Aymeric counts as society.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I know that you’re worse than an ogre with a toothache if you have to talk to anyone.”

“Which is exactly what I said, fool.” Estinien poked him with a spiky elbow. “Let’s find our prey and depart.”

Haurchefant pushed open the Congregation door and stepped into the atrium. Since it was evening, it was quiet; there was a guard on the door to the inner halls, and Lucia sat at the desk across the room. She looked up as they entered. Haurchefant nodded to her, and she put down her pen.

“Lord Greystone and the Azure are here to see the Lord Commander, Auphilliont,” she told the guard. “Please let them pass. Then you may retire for the evening.”

The man saluted. “Ser Lucia.”

Estinien strode through the inner door without preamble. Haurchefant grinned at Lucia and followed him as the dragoon stalked down the passageway and into Aymeric’s office without knocking.

“Can I be of assistance?” Aymeric asked dryly.

Estinien took off his helm, and his long, ice-white hair tumbled down over his shoulders. “We’re here to kidnap you. Resistance is futile.”

“I see.”

Haurchefant settled down in one of the armchairs and crossed his long legs. “Actually we’re here to beg your hospitality for the night. But Estinien is overly fond of drama, so he may be inclined to kidnap you regardless.”

Aymeric closed his eyes and then reopened them slowly. “I shall endeavour to thwart him by offering mine compliance without demur.”

“Provocative,” Estinien muttered.

“Would you rather I fluttered and flustered?”

Haurchefant sat more upright and watched them with interest. “I believe he was hoping for defiance. He’s looking for something to sink his teeth into.”

The dragoon bared the aforementioned teeth. “Stop pretending to understand me, you clown.”

Haurchefant batted his eyelashes at Aymeric. “See?”

“You are both unsafe to be allowed out of doors,” Aymeric said. “For Ishgard’s sake, I needs must detain you. Attend me at Borel manor, gentlemen.”

Haurchefant clapped his hands. “Delicious. Quite delicious.”

Estinien glowered. “You will have us all three arrested if you don’t mind your words, fool.”

“Since when did anyone take _me_ seriously? I’m the mad, bad, Fortemps bastard. At the very worst, Aymeric’s confessor will advise him to pursue his friendships elsewhere.”

“Let us process quietly back up the hill,” Aymeric suggested. “No flutes and hautbois to precede us.”

“Just the Silver Fuller’s mad clarion of laughter,” Estinien grumbled, following them out of the room.

The walk back up to the Pillars was more of the same. Aymeric sternly flirtatious, Estinien snarly, and Haurchefant a careful witness. The sky darkened fully, the lights came on, the wind had grown a little chill and swept the clouds away. It stole Aymeric’s murmured provocations and Estinien’s threats and dispersed them into the night. When they reached the house, Aymeric opened the door, and his steward came to meet them with smiles and nods.

“Wine for my friends, Ernaud, if you would be so kind.” Aymeric smiled at the man as they handed over their outer clothing. All except Estinien, of course, who would not surrender a whit of his spikiness. “And prepare two of the guest rooms please.”

Ernaud bowed and betrayed nothing of his knowledge that - of course - no guest rooms would be occupied. Haurchefant might have applauded him had he not been already reprimanded for indiscretion. Instead he settled himself in a chair in the cosy parlor and watched and waited. Estinien leant against the wall, still nursing his helm, as if surrendering it meant defeat. Aymeric busied himself with poking the fading fire and adding more logs.

The room was neither large nor fashionable. Aymeric dressed the part his rank accorded him, at least in public, but otherwise he eschewed most of the trappings of his birth and position. The marble fireplace he knelt before was elegant, but otherwise everything looked comfortable, even shabby, rather than stylish. It was a room Haurchefant had always been fond of, since his childhood, when the Borel manor had offered an escape and a refuge to a lonely boy. He could be himself there without fear of criticism or reprimand.

Naturally it was he who broke the silence at last. “Will you stand forever armoured, Azure, or will you let down your defences a little? Since we’re all friends here, and so on and so forth?”

A scowl and a flash of teeth. “Azure now, is it? Earlier you called me oaf.”

“Azure, oaf, should I distinguish between them?”

“I think Ser Alberic might take exception to your lack of distinction,” Aymeric said mildly. He turned away from the fire. Estinien’s eyes tracked him as he moved across the room towards another chair, and Haurchefant smiled. Aymeric was their lodestone, the force that pulled them together and held them together. Without him as a fulcrum, they might have come to blows at the last.

The Lord Commander settled himself carelessly in the armchair. Except that Aymeric never did anything carelessly, not even carelessness. His grace was studied yet still beguiling. He leaned back and clasped his hands together. “So. What news of the world, gentlemen, since I am held within Ishgard’s walls these days?”

“It turns,” Estinien said.

Aymeric looked at him through his lashes, a long, quiet look, and then he turned to Haurchefant. “And the Warrior of Light? Does she still fascinate and entrance you?”

Haurchefant smiled, suddenly quite serious. “Always.” It was now his turn to receive one of Aymeric’s assessing looks.

“I see,” said the Lord Commander.

“She’s my friend, Aymeric.”

Estinien snorted. “Does she know this?”

Haurchefant refused to be thrown off balance. He trusted Elai without reservation. “I believe she does, yes.”

“And you’re _her_ friend in return?” Aymeric again, careful, watchful.

“Yes. I am.”

Another snort from Estinien. Haurchefant looked at him. “When you meet her, oaf, you’ll understand. For you, of all people, will either love her or hate her.”

“An interesting observation.” Aymeric settled himself more comfortably in his chair and then looked up. “Ah, Ernaud. Put the wine on the small table if you please. We’ll serve ourselves.”

The steward bowed and did as he was asked. “Will that be all, ser?”

“Indeed. My thanks. You may retire now.”

“Breakfast at the seventh ball as usual, my lord?”

“Let’s say the ninth bell,” Aymeric replied, not losing an ilm of his composure. “The Azure Dragoon isn’t noted for his morning manners.”

“He’s not noted for his manners any time of day or night,” Haurchefant observed as the steward withdrew.

“Why should I pretend a gentility I too clearly lack?” demanded Estinien. “At least no one can complain they do not get what they see.”

Aymeric steepled his fingers. “Tis mine avowed intention to get everything I see.” He lowered his lashes again. “But before I do so, I wish to hear more of the Warrior of Light.” Estinien huffed, but Aymeric ignored him. “Why will our Azure be so enamoured of her, Haurchefant?”

“I will not …”

“It’s true, he may not.” Haurchefant left his chair to go and crouch down next to Aymeric. “They are like two halves of the same whole. Not altogether, Elai has some notion of manners at least, but in many ways they are alike.”

Estinien’s silver eyes pierced him like blades. “You do not know me as well as you think.”

“I have heard you sing for joy in battle. As she does. And I’ve heard you weep with grief as she does. I’ve heard you rage against your fate as she rages against hers.”

Aymeric looked at both of them, and his eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Interesting. Tis a pity she can’t come to Ishgard.”

“One day perhaps?” Haurchefant said.

“Not while my father lives.”

“Your father is a man like any other.”

“At least in respect of his mortality,” Estinien amended. “For which truth let us all give thanks to Halone.”

Haurchefant settled down on the floor next to Aymeric’s chair. He leaned his head against the arm-rest, and Aymeric tugged at his hair. Haurchefant pushed into the touch like a cat begging to be stroked. "You must come to Dragonhead then, Lord Commander. To inspect the fortifications or some such. 'Twould be no surprise to anyone if the Warrior should be there at the same time, she visits us often." 

"Why are you dangling her in front of him like a tasty sweetmeat?" Estinien grumbled. 

Haurchefant stared. "Is that what I'm doing?" 

"Pay him no mind," Aymeric said. There was a rich edge of laughter in his voice. "He's jealous of your affection for her, fears that I'll be equally smitten and - worst of all - is terrified he might fancy her himself."

"I don't tangle with giggling girls." Estinien's voice sounded as icy as the water that flowed through Saint Daniffen's pass. "Adventurers from the city states are ten-for-a-gil, why is this one any different?" 

"You'd better bring him with you when you visit," Haurchefant pretend-whispered. "I want to be there when he meets her." 

"Oh enough," Estinien scowled. "If you plan to talk of your precious Warrior all night, I'll take myself elsewhere." 

"Importunate," Aymeric said. "Very importunate."

"Not to mention impatient," added Haurchefant. 

"Greedy." 

"Thirsty." 

"Halone damn the two of you," Estinien muttered.

# \------------

In Ul’dah, at the Quicksand, Elai dreamed that night. She knew nothing of the threads being spun to bring her to Ishgard; despite her affection for Lord Haurchefant, her thoughts were elsewhere.

Dreams did not surprise her anymore. But this was a dream like those that other people dreamed, not a visitation from her Echo. Or at least it seemed so when she woke. Afterwards, though, when she thought on it, she wasn’t so certain. 

It seemed to seek to tell her something, but the message eluded her.

In her dream she followed a singer’s voice. 

It was hard to say where it came from, and she followed it for hours, up a winding staircase, sometimes down the same staircase. At last she reached a room - a dark room, though it seemed open to the heavens - and she wandered amongst tall pillars like trees. In the centre of the room, there was a figure with pale skin and black, feathered wings; an angel, perhaps, manacled at ankle and wrist and chained to the tallest pillar.

Blood seeped from beneath the manacles. It seemed it had tried - and failed - to free itself and now had surrendered the struggle. The taste of despair tainted the air Elai breathed.

She moved forward swiftly to free the shackled creature, and it lifted its head at her touch. To her horror, it was Emet Selch.

“Try to say goodbye, and I choke,” he coughed, more blood spilling from his mouth. “Try to walk away, and I stumble.”

“Shhh,” Elai said. “Shhh.”

The angel didn’t hear her. “Though I try and hide it, tis clear, this world crumbles when you are not near.”

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very heavily rewritten chapter 13 as I very much felt it didn't work before. Basically covers much of the same ground however, which is the long-established bonds between Haurchefant, Estinien and Aymeric.
> 
> Many thanks for your kudos & comments <3


	15. How I wish, how I wish you were here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light needs a vacation.

The adventurers' enclave in the Goblet was really rather pleasant. Much more pleasant than Alphinaud expected, given the rag, tag, and bobtail crews who made up most of the Free Companies. He wouldn't have been surprised to discover the entire place a warren of taverns, gambling dens and worse. And he wouldn't have ventured there at all if the Warrior of Light had not been ignoring her linkpearl. 

He asked one of the Flames on guard near the entrance to direct him to the Ruly Gentlemen; the guard sent him to a nearby kiosk that housed - amongst others - the enclave caretaker. The caretaker reeled off instructions that left Alphinaud in a daze so he requested a map with his destination clearly marked; nonetheless it still took him almost a bell to find the correct estate. He was able to properly judge the beauty of the enclave - much more so than Revenant’s Toll, to his chagrin - with its fountains and towers and shops, the amber and red mountains behind and the deep blue of the sky. He was most discomposed by the rift between his expectations and the reality and was consequently not in the best of tempers when he finally reached the house.

Alphinaud knocked on the front door which was answered quite speedily by a very large Highlander male. The man looked down at him, scowled and barked, “Wha’ever yer sellin’, kid, we don’t want none.”

Alphinaud bridled. “My name is Alphinaud Leveilleur, and I am looking for the Warrior of Light.”

“She ent here.”

“Well, where is she then?”

“None o’ yer business, squirt.”

“Squirt?” Did this … this mountain not know who he was speaking to? “Please amend your manners, my good man, and advise Mistress Elai I am here and need to speak with her _most_ urgently.”

The Highlander’s scowl turned into a glower. “I ent yer good man, right? An’ I already told you that Elai ent here. So why don’t you just …”

“It’s all right, Ardent,” someone said from inside the house. “I know Kettle told you to repel all boarders, but Alphinaud’s one of the Scions.” A Miqo’te male came to the door, a pile of bloodied animal skins in his arms. “Just let me get rid of these hides, Master Alphinaud, and I’ll be right with you. Ardent speaks true, though. Elai isn’t here.”

“Well, where is she then?” Alphinaud asked plaintively. He could hear the whine in his own voice and coughed to try and disguise it. He didn’t want to sound like a petitioner. Elai was already prone to arguing with him when he asked her to do something, a habit he had no intention of encouraging.

“Gone fishing,” the Miqo’te called - what was his name? Kit or some such? - as he disappeared down the hallway with the skins. “Be right back, okay?”

“Fishing?” Alphinaud spluttered.

Ardent looked down at him, smirked, and then shut the front door on him. Alphinaud stared at it for a moment or two and then knocked again. No one answered. He knocked a third time and, after a brief space of time, Kit opened it.

“I did say I’d be right back,” he told Alphinaud.

Alphinaud flushed and bowed somewhat awkwardly. He was embarrassed by his own impatience. It was a difficult line to walk, twixt being thought rude and having folk dismiss him because of his youth. He was conscious - sometimes - that he strayed too far into ‘rude’.

“My apologies,” he said. “I was too hasty. But your … your fellow doorkeeper seemed like to dismiss me entirely.”

Kit leaned against the door jamb and looked at him. “Ardent’s good at following instructions. And Kettle told him to dispatch anyone who came looking for Elai with a flea in their ear.”

“But why?”

“Mainly because we’re constantly being pestered by people wanting to join the Eff-See because they got some kind of a crush on the Warrior of Light.”

“Effsee?”

Kit grinned. “Free Company.”

Alphinaud blushed again. “Oh. I see.” Personally he disapproved of the Warrior being affiliated with any organisation other than the Scions, but the one time he’d mentioned it to Minfilia, she’d told him not to be so foolish. “You said Elai had gone fishing …?”

“Yeah.”

“I ...didn’t know she fished. It ...ah ...well, would you happen to know where she is fishing?”

“Nope.”

Alphinaud frowned, but Kit just retaliated with a bland smile. “Look, she didn’t give us a destination, she just said she was going fishing. Could have been a euphemism for all I know.”

Alphinaud blushed yet again and coughed to cover his embarrassment. “But I need to speak with her, and she’s not answering her linkpearl.”

“She probably took it off,” Kit said. “She told Kettle to call her if there were any real emergencies.” He arched his eyebrows. “Is it a real emergency?”

“Well ...no ...I suppose not. But …”

“But?”

“There’s a great deal to deal with currently,” Alphinaud replied. “The move to Revenant’s Toll and the Doman refugees. Not to mention the reappearance of the Ascians.”

“None of which are real, ‘we need the Warrior of Light right now to stab things’ kind of situations though, right?” Kit observed. “I mean, if a primal suddenly appears, Kettle’ll be the first person on the linkpearl to her, no worries about that. But you don’t really need Elai to help you settle in at the Toll, right?” 

“But …”

Kit widened his eyes, and Alphinaud bit his lip. Impossible to admit the Warrior was, entirely and totally, the one person he depended upon. She was bad-tempered - often - and foul-mouthed - at least some of the time - but he could rely on her to carry out any task he entrusted her with. And disappearing without a word of explanation was a worrying development.

“Is she ...is something wrong?” he asked. “With Elai, I mean?”

Kit shrugged. "Not as far as I know. But Haurchefant's her confidante, not me. He'd know the answer, but whether he'd be prepared to give it is another matter entirely. He's very protective of the Warrior." 

Alphinaud's world rearranged itself in entirely different patterns than previously. "I wasn't even aware they were more than barely acquainted." 

"Well she's not one for sharing, our Elai. And if you're thinking of heading to Dragonhead to look for her, I'd advise against it. Whatever it was she wanted time and space for, she'll come back when she's ready. You'd do her a real favour, leaving her in peace."

"Yes …yes, of course," Alphinaud stammered. Did he really seem so selfish and inconsiderate as to pursue Elai when she'd made it plain she wished to be alone? "Thank … thank you for your time, Kit. And for explaining matters so … thank you." 

He bowed just to be on the safe side.

# \------------

The Warrior of Light was by no means a woodsman. Not like Kit or Kettle who would - Elai thought - survive in a wilderness quite happily. Apart from her very early years near Onokoro, Elai was a child of the city. She was used to docks and alleyways and walls and roofs; she could climb like a feral cat and scavenge like a rat. It was disconcerting how those skills deserted her when she had to shin up a tree instead of a building or move through undergrowth quietly. But avoiding the cities was a part of the challenge she set herself; it was pointless disappearing if folk saw her slinking around the aetherytes and creeping back to her room at the Quicksand. The only linkpearl she kept equipped was Kettle’s, and all her energies were focused on learning to fish and to feed herself out in the wilds.

Contrary to expectations, fishing required a deal more concentration than patience. Elai was unexpectedly enthralled by it. It reminded her of endless days in the Ruby Sea as a child; fishing there was a way of life, and she recalled digging in the mud for bait, the warm water lapping over her bare feet, the wet sand oozing between her toes. It was a time when life seemed a joyous chain of sunny days and her daily duties games instead of chores.

Her days out in the wilds of Eorzea now assumed the same patina of freedom, of escape. She knew she must go back - if she were gone too long, her friends would worry and the Scions fret - but she would make the most of the time she had. With all her energies applied to finding shelter, keeping warm, staying fed and watered, she had little to spare to worry about gods or Ascians or Emet Selch. The latter didn’t trouble her dreams, and her Echo left her in peace.

She was in the Black Shroud, not far from the Sanctum of the Twelve, looking for a suitable place to fish for fall jumpers. She'd set up a small camp a couple of days previously, rigging a shelter with scavenged branches and the oilskin cloak she kept in her pack. So far she hadn't bagged the fish she was after, but she'd gotten enough trout to keep herself fed and to make oil out of the bones and skin; Kit used fish oil in his leatherwork, she knew. She'd also harvested a whole bunch of different plants and herbs; she ate the more familiar ones with the fish - this simple food was astonishingly tasty - and saved the rest to show to Fufucha at the botanists' guild. 

Elai had just finished an early breakfast - sunrise early - of fruit and stolen honey when she was joined by Frixio, Elder of the Sylphs. 

"Walking One, oh Walking One, so glad am I to find you," Frixio warbled.

Elai put down her wooden plate. "Is something amiss, Elder Frixio?"

Frixio glided closer. “Lord Ramuh is back in the forest. This one knows he told Walking One no need for concern, but this one still worries. This one asks Walking One to go and speak with Ramuh.”

Elai smiled at the sylph. "Of course, Elder Frixio. But I don't think you need to fret. Lord Ramuh wouldn't break his word without very good reason." Strange that a primal felt more worthy of her trust than some of the people she knew. 

"An ill wind whispers through the forest," Frixio said softly. "These ones hear it in the late hours, and these ones huddle together in fear. Mayhap Lord Ramuh can tell Walking One of what the wind speaks." 

"Mayhap indeed," Elai replied. Ramuh might know the answers to more questions than that one. "I'll come find you in Little Solace once I've spoken to him. It will take me a little time to pack up my things though and to walk to the Striking Tree. So don't expect me soon." 

"These ones shall look for Walking One come the morning." 

Elai watched, smiling a little, as the old Sylph glided away. She was very fond of Frixio - indeed of all the Sylphs in Little Solace - for their joyful innocence shone a hopeful light on the world. She'd mourned Noraxia most truly when the Garleans murdered the tiny Scion. 

"No wonder Ramuh sees men as a curse and a plague," she muttered to herself as she began to dismantle her shelter. "I can't say I'm inclined to disagree with him." 

It was still early when she finished packing away her camp and set off east towards the Striking Tree. The sun slanting through the branches had begun to burn off the mist that lingered here and there and to dry the dew on the grass. Elai left no footprints behind to show her passing. Though she was still not as practised at slipping unseen through the undergrowth as Kettle might have been, she felt less obtrusive there than previously. Elusive enough to avoid attracting the attention of the Touched Ones flitting amongst the trees. When she reached the aetheryte deep inside the Sylphlands, she laid her hands upon it, seeking passage to the Striking Tree.

The world blurred and shifted around her but momentarily; she blinked and looked about, and the massive figure of the Lord of Levin inclined his head towards her.

“Bringer of Light,” he said, his voice rolling around the arena like thunder.

She bowed. “Lord Ramuh.”

“You are brave to seek me out a second time. Or foolish perhaps.”

“I’ve been called the second more often than the first,” Elai acknowledged. “I am come at the behest of Frixio of Little Solace. The Sylphs have sensed an ill wind blowing through the forest and seek your guidance.”

Ramuh snorted, but his mouth twitched in what might have been the semblance of a smile. “You are adroit in framing their request thus. But you may tell them I merely watch and wait, they have nothing to fear from me. None of the children of the forest have aught to fear from me, as much as they dwell in peace and tranquil reticence.”

Elai bowed again. “You’re most gracious, Lord Ramuh.” As she straightened up, she fixed her eyes on his face and proffered what she hoped was an ingratiating smile. “If you have time to spare, might I ask you a question or two?”

He regarded her without speaking for a moment, then he inclined his head.

Elai folded her hands together behind her back. “You are ancient, my lord, and very wise. So the Elder Seedseer herself has told me.”

“And not impervious to flattery, hmmm?” Ramuh huffed. That was definitely a smile. “Speak your questions, Bringer of Light.”

“Have you ever heard of a creature - a man, I believe, but I may be mistaken - called Emet Selch? Or the Emet Selch? It could be a title rather than a name.”

Ramuh stared off into the distance, his forehead furrowed.

“I … have not,” he said eventually. Before Elai could sigh with disappointment he continued. “But it is indeed a title, I believe. Spoken in a tongue long forgotten.”

“What does it mean?”

“It denotes - more or less - the sigil of Truth.”

“The sigil? You mean like a letter or something?”

Ramuh fixed hawkish grey eyes upon her. “Fourteen signs in the heavens, fourteen signs upon the earth. The sigil of Truth is a winged beast. Some have called it the herald of Death.”

Elai thought of the chained and bloodied angel she had seen in her dreams, and her heart beat faster. “The herald of Death? What have truth and death to do with each other?”

Ramuh’s eyes were definitely twinkling. “I am not a philosopher, Bringer of Light.”

“Fair enough. Neither am I. One more question then, if you please?”

“Very well.”

“Have you ever heard of a woman going by the name of Echo?”

“No.”

Ah, hells. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve indulged you thus far, Bringer of Light,” Ramuh rumbled. “If you are wise, you’ll not try my patience.”

Yeah, best to quit while she was ahead. She was dressed for fishing, not sparring with a primal. “Thank you for your kindness, Lord Ramuh. I’ll take your message to Elder Frixio before I leave the forest.”

He inclined his head, but he watched her fixedly as she backed up prior to ‘porting to the aetheryte at the Hawthorne Hut. As the spell took effect she saw those piercing grey eyes - alive with the light of the levinbolt – and remembered the broiling skies she'd watched from Emet Selch’s window. Even as the memory swept over her, the spell stuttered, and the world faded away. She cried out as pain crushed her senses; when she could see again, she was not at the Hawthorne Hut.

She was not in the forest at all. 

# \------------

Opening her eyes to find herself inside someone else’s body was disconcerting enough, although Elai had grown more accustomed to it lately. Awakening to find herself inside a body over which she had no control was very much worse. That the body appeared to be that of a large grey bird, currently flying over a great city that stretched for malms, was freakish in the extreme.

It was evening, of that much Elai was certain. The buildings around her were unlike any she’d seen before, towering tall against the darkening sky, their windows shining brightly in the dusk. Torches lined the paths below, and she could see tiny figures - stick creatures from a child’s drawing - going on their way. The bird rode the currents of air, its great wings barely moving, its eyes scanning the panorama below. Elai would have very much liked to close her own eyes - the height was dizzying as was the sensation of flight - but she no longer had any choice about what she saw or did. She wondered if this was how Thancred felt, a passenger in his own body, when the Ascian had stolen it.

Eventually the bird glided downwards towards a small green space amongst the towering buildings. There were trees and sloping lawns and a pretty pavilion overlooking an ornamental pond; lights hung in the trees and around the pavilion, giving the whole place a very festive air. The bird settled amongst the trees, hunching its shoulders as it landed on the close-cropped grass. Slowly it edged forward until it looked out across the park. Elai perforce looked also.

A figure lounged on the sloping lawn nearby, staring up at the star-speckled sky. In the light from the lamps Elai could see what looked like a man - at least for the most part - tall and long-limbed with white hair that spilled over his arms where he pillowed his head. He wore a carved red mask much like those the Wood Wailers in Gridania wore and long black robes.

The figure lay there, unmoving, for some considerable time, and the great grey bird stood, also motionless, and watched him. Elai might have thought them both statues except that she knew the bird breathed, she could feel it. And the man was altogether too lifelike to be a simulacrum. The whole scene seemed poised on the edge of some momentous event, and yet nothing continued to happen.

Then the bird raised its eyes, just a little, and swivelled its head slightly to the right to watch another figure slowly approach across the grass. This one - similarly dressed in black robes and a mask, although the mask was white - stopped a small distance away from the other. The prone figure still didn’t move, and Elai began to wonder if indeed it was a statue or carving after all.

The new arrival spoke. "I heard the good news, my friend. Congratulations, Hades. Or perhaps I should say the honourable Emet Selch of the Convocation of Fourteen?"

When she heard the words ‘Emet Selch’, Elai’s focus sharpened. Of all the outcomes she’d considered, this hadn’t been amongst them. Nophica’s tits, why was she a damned _bird_?

Emet Selch - Hades? - sat up and pulled his cowl back over his head, covering his bright white hair. Was this even _her_ Emet Selch?

“Naught to congratulate, ‘Daeus,” he said. “I filled a void, nothing more. A void which - may I remind you - only existed because you refused the role yourself.”

The other man laughed. “Nonsense. Naturally they chose the candidate best suited to the part. A man of action rather than mere introspection.”

The one called Hades stood up, and Elai wished the bird would move closer. She could hear the conversation, but it was hard to be certain if she recognised the voice or no. And she was almost positive that both of the figures were considerably taller than the Emet Selch she knew.

"And what does that say about your suitability for your own office?” Hades demanded. “Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, isn’t it?” There was a definite sneer to his voice that sounded familiar. “Perhaps I should bring this up next time I visit the Hall of Rhetoric?”

The other laughed again. “I’m happy to debate the matter with any you care to mention. Even you, my friend.”

“Was there something else?” Hades snapped.

“Indeed there was. Have you informed a certain someone of your appointment? I’m sure she’ll be eager to congratulate you.”

Hades waved a hand languidly. “I doubt that’s necessary. They’ll announce it soon, if she hasn’t already heard it from the gossip on the street. Any news about the Convocation spreads like fire in a forest.”

“Hmmm,” the other said, cocking his head. “I venture she’d prefer to hear it from you. Indeed I believe she’d be sorely wounded by the omission otherwise. She was planning an evening at home; I’m sure she’d be very happy to join us. I can call her ...”

“If I require your help, I’ll be sure to ask you for it.”

“Hades …”

“Hythlodaeus,” he said, bowing with an exaggerated courtesy that Elai was certain she recognised.

As if his words were a cue, the bird spread its wings soundlessly and glided through the air - close to the ground - towards the two men. They both turned as it approached. The one named Hythlodaeus began to laugh yet again. The one called Hades shook his head and sighed.

“Echo,” he huffed. “I should have known you'd be lurking nearby. Your fondness for forms not your own is almost a cliche these days.”

The bird settled on the ground at his feet and looked up at him. It clacked its beak together, over and over, making a most unconscionable din, and he put his hands over his ears. Elai was jarred by the noise; she began to feel dizzy and then as though she was falling. Either that or the sky - or the floor - was rushing towards her, she was uncertain which. The last thing she heard before the world turned dark was the voice of Hythlodaeus.

“Dearest Echo. Don’t let his tetchiness disturb you, He ever mocks what he loves best, as well we both know. Is that not so, Hades?”

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part of this chapter is based upon one of the Lodestone stories for Shadowbringers. If you haven't read them, they're worth a look, if only for some snippets of lore.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read, left kudos or commented, I really appreciate it <3


	16. We're just two lost souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light wants to strangle Alphinaud Leveilleur

When the Warrior of Light finally exploded and told Alphinaud Leveilleur he was a pest and that _no way_ was she moving into a room into the Rising Stones because he would give her no peace if she did, no one seemed surprised. Well, Alphinaud seemed very surprised - his mouth rounded into a small but perfect O, and he stared at Elai for a second or two - then he span around on his heel and fled.

Elai became acutely conscious of all the other people in the room, none of whom would catch her eye. She bit her lip - godsdamnit, even the Doman children were there - and immediately teleported to the Dragonhead aetheryte. But when she arrived in Dragonhead - thankfully in the midst of a heavy snowstorm so no one saw her - she realised she couldn’t bear to tell Haurchefant how badly she’d lost her temper and ‘ported to the Free Company house. No one there would be at all shocked to hear what she’d done; hells, Kettle would probably pat her on the back.

“Which is not what I want,” Elai muttered to herself as she stomped around to the door. “Yes, he’s a pain in the butt, I still shouldn’t have yelled at him. But if I hadn’t yelled, I might have hit him. I’m so freaking _tired_ of him treating me like his toy assassin.”

She managed to get indoors and upstairs without seeing anyone. Godric heard her come in and popped his head out of the kitchen to ask if she was hungry; she called back down the stairs that she was fine and going to take a bath.

Actually a bath sounded like a good idea. She could lock the door, and t’would be a bell at least before anyone thought to disturb her. Time to think things over and decide what to do. She knew she needed to apologise; it had been cruel to berate Alphinaud in front of an audience. But she needed to do it in such a way that he understood her boundaries, also that she was only apologising for her timing and temper, not the meat of her point.

For some reason - Elai hadn’t worked out what, as yet - Tataru liked to buy her perfumed candles as gifts; she had four or five now. And Lily liked to give her bath oils and soaps, scented with lavender and chamomile and lemon balm. Elai was fairly sure there was a message _there_ somewhere. But she collected the candles and oils together and took them into the bathroom. She closed the curtains, set the candles down on window ledge, cupboard and shelves, and lit each one with a spark of aether. T’was a trick grown easier and easier the more she used it. Then she ran hot water into the bath, along with a small amount of each different oil, and shucked off her armour onto the floor. It needed cleaning, she could do that later. Should have done it first but … oh well …

She sighed with pleasure as she slid down into the steaming, scented water and closed her eyes. Lying there in the dark, breathing in the heat and the heady perfumes, she didn’t think about anything at all for several moments.

Yes, Alphinaud was a brat - she much preferred his twin sister - but he meant well. Perhaps hobnobbing with princes and leaders gave him grandiose ideas, inflated his sense of his own importance - it was his arrogance she couldn’t bear - yet his intentions were good. It wasn’t _his_ fault he was Louisoix’s grandson. And she had to work with him, she had no choice.

Elai sighed. Her thoughts were so muddied, it felt impossible to understand them well enough to make sense of them. And not just with regards to Alphinaud. Her journal was filled with scribbled notes about her Echo and Emet Selch, but none of the notes fit any kind of pattern. She was missing some piece of vital information to make them line up. Either that, or she really was crazy, and Emet Selch was entirely a construction of her subconscious. The Twelve knew, she was obsessed enough with him for it to be the truth. After all, how many creatures were there that lived unchanged for thousands of years? None, that was how many. Her visions just took scrambled, half-remembered tales that she’d squirrelled away and wove them into something she could use to convince herself her survival had a reason.

Damn Louisoix and his meddling. Damn Alphinaud and his wide-eyed convictions. Damn Emet Selch and his seductive mystery.

Elai sat up in the bath-tub. “Right. Enough wallowing … Haha, see what you did there, Elai …” She sluiced herself down quickly with some clean water from the shower, redressed herself in soft, loose kecks and a comfortable shirt, and took her armour downstairs to clean it. Kit looked at her and sniffed as she came into the kitchen.

“You been rolling in flowers?” he said.

She shook her head. “Nope. Anger management.”

“I didn’t realise anger management smelled so good.”

“That’s because you don’t have anger issues.”

He grinned. “Oh, I do have, I just solve them with my axe.”

“Sadly I can’t take an axe to Alphinaud,” she said.

The following morning she dressed in her fishing gear - much less intimidating than her armour - and ‘ported to Ul’dah to visit the markets. She bought a bag of fresh pastries from the pot watch - breakfast pastries with honey and dried fruit and sweet cream - and then ‘ported to the Toll. It was still early, and there weren’t many folks around. She slipped into the Rising Stones and headed towards Alphinaud’s room; the only person she encountered was Hoary Boulder, heading in the opposite direction. He nodded to her but didn’t say anything for which she was entirely and eternally grateful.

She knocked lightly on Alphinaud’s door.

“I am quite well, Tataru,” Alphinaud called. “There’s no need at all to fuss.”

Elai took a steadying breath. “It’s not Tataru. It’s me. I mean ...it’s Elai.”

There were a few beats of silence, then she heard footsteps, and the door opened. Alphinaud looked at her without saying anything. Elai held out the bag of pastries.

“Breakfast,” she said. “If you set the table, I’ll go and make us some of that spiced tea you and Alisaie are so fond of.”

Alphinaud took the proffered bag. She ventured a smile, which he didn’t return. She gave him points for that; she would have thought less of him had he been easy to placate. “Do you take yours as sweet as your sister takes hers?”

“Somewhat sweeter,” he replied. 

“I can bring the syrup back with me if you like.”

“Yes.”

Clearly he meant to make her work for this. Which she deserved, she supposed. She’d humiliated him in front of everyone, including a number of the Crystal Braves. If the tables had been turned, she would have tipped a vat of honey over him and fed him to Archie.

When she came back with a pot of sweet spiced tea, cups, and a large bowl of maple syrup, Alphinaud had put the pastries down on the table in his room and drawn up two chairs. Elai set down the drinks and took one of the chairs. He stood behind the other.

She opened the bag and took out a pastry. “Do you know what this is?”

He looked at it and then at her. “A peace offering?”

“Well, yes, that too. But mainly it’s a humble pie. Which I am going to eat.” She took a bite out of it.

“Hmm,” he said.

“Alphinaud …”

“You don’t have to fuss. It’s fine. I understand.”

“I’m trying to apologise.”

“There’s no need.”

“Yes, there is.” She put the cake back down on top of the bag. “I should have brought plates.”

“You’re apologising because you should have brought plates?”

“No, Alphinaud.” She was almost certain he was misunderstanding her on purpose. “I’m apologising because I was unconscionably rude to you, and you didn’t deserve it.”

He maintained his calm mien. “I understand. I annoy you. I am importunate and demanding. You put me in my place.”

“Alphinaud …”

“Yes?” 

She tried to relax the muscles in her neck and shoulders - which had tensed up - and to breathe deeply. It was important not to rage at him again. “It’s true I find you too demanding sometimes. But I’m impetuous and rash, and I lose my temper easily. We both have our faults. I’m not trying to make excuses for how I spoke to you yesterday - as I said, it was inexcusable - but I can give you reasons. Your demands and my temper are two of those reasons.” She looked at him, wondering how honest she dared to be. “You may also be aware that I ...I have issues with my survival after Carteneau. Said issues impact unfairly on you as Louisoix’s grandson.”

He sat down in the chair opposite and peered inside the bag of pastries. “You blame me because my grandfather spared you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I acknowledge it’s unfair.” Elai knew she sounded defensive.

“Hmm.”

“We have to work together, Alphinaud. Neither of us really have a choice. It seems best, therefore, that we at least try to be honest with each other.”

He took one of the pastries out of the bag, broke off a small piece, and dipped it in the spiced tea. “Yes.”

“You’re excessively close-mouthed today.”

“I thought you objected to me talking too much.”

“True.”

“I’m endeavouring to be less irritating.”

“Right …”

“You’re very hard work, Elai.”

She grinned. That was certainly true. “How are the pastries?”

“Delicious. Thank you. Although somewhat cold.”

“If I’d warmed them, I would have melted the cream.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Also true.” He hesitated and then looked directly at her, the first time he’d met her gaze properly that morning. “My grandfather thought very highly of you, you know.”

Elai felt her expression freeze into one of pained disbelief. “He barely even knew me.”

“On the contrary, he wrote of you often to Alisaie.” Alphinaud managed a small smile. “My sister is also ...impetuous and rash. It was because of his letters that she accepted your help investigating the Coils.”

Elai glowered at him suspiciously. “Louisoix never even met Elai Khatahdin.”

“But he did meet - and like - Elladie Byrne.”

She stiffened. Impossible to know what to say in reply. Or what to do. “I’m certain he didn’t save me just to be a role model - a most unsuitable one at that - for Alisaie.”

“No, of course not,” Alphinaud agreed. “I just wanted you to know he didn’t save you on a whim. I mean … I don’t know why he chose you out of all those who stood with him that day - please forgive me if this is coming out amiss, I don’t mean it to - but I do know he must have had a purpose. A purpose that my sister and I inherited, in our different ways.”

Elai shifted uncomfortably on her chair. This was still very much something she didn’t care to talk about. But Alphinaud’s eyes on hers were so open and trusting ...well ...she couldn’t rebuff him directly.

“You went to the Studium, right?” she said, changing the subject. He was supposed to be clever, maybe he could help solve some mysteries for her. “You and Alisaie? Youngest pupils ever admitted and all that?” Alphinaud nodded a little warily. “Do you know of anything that lives for millennia? Possibly lots of millennia?”

“Dragons,” he suggested, settling down more comfortably in his chair and pulling his drink closer. “Nidhogg still lives, or so I believe, and he is one of the First Brood. That makes him thousands of years old.”

Elai didn’t think Emet Selch was actually a dragon. “Nothing else?”

“Well you’ll probably need to be more specific.” He finished the pastry and picked up another. “I mean there are voidsent but I’m not sure you can describe them as alive. Ditto undead, I suppose. I’ve no idea how long an animated corpse could ...why are you staring at me like that?”

“It’s admiration, Alphinaud.” She really hoped Emet Selch wasn’t an animated corpse; that was worse than him being a figment of her imagination. “Shall I make more tea?”

“Please. I’ll make a list of your long-lived creatures. We should probably include primals, although …”

They were drinking more tea and discussing whether primals could truly be considered alive and, if so, whether their multiple incarnations could truly be considered the same individual when there was a light knock on the door. 

Alphinaud looked from the notes he’d been making. “Come in?”

“Oh Alphinaud, I …” Minfilia stopped speaking and stared at Elai.

“We were just having breakfast,” Alphinaud said breezily. “Did you need me, Minfilia?”

The Antecedent schooled her expression. “Actually I need both of you. There’s a messenger from Camp Dragonhead, and I am …”

“Trouble?” Elai was out of her chair quickly. She should have worn her armour after all. “More attacks on one of Haurchefant’s caravans?”

“Oh no.” Minfilia was speedy with the reassurances. “Well, no attacks at any rate, or not that I’m aware. Whether ‘tis trouble or no is another matter. The Lord Commander of the Ishgardian Temple Knights has requested a meeting, to take place at Camp Dragonhead. The tenor of Lord Haurchefant’s letter gives no clue as to the reason for such meeting; the only explanation he offers is that the Lord Commander very much wishes to meet the Warrior of Light.”

Elai groaned. She would strangle Haurchefant. No doubt he'd been over-extravagant in his praise of her prowess again, and some dignitary had decided to investigate.  
"Interesting," Alphinaud mused. "That would be Ser Aymeric de Borel, I believe. But newly appointed to his post and determined to make an impression. "

Minfilia frowned. "Why now, however? The Ishgardians have rejected all outside contact for decades. Louisoix named them merely friends of convenience when they withdrew from the Alliance as soon as the imperial Fleet was destroyed at Silvertear." 

"Would that I knew," Alphinaud replied. "I've attempted to convince them to return to the Alliance at…" 

"Wait … what?" Elai was confused. "You've been talking to the Ishgardians?" 

" … Every opportunity,” Alphinaud continued. "Of course I've been talking to them. As has Minfilia. We've explained countless times that Eorzea cannot hope to keep her freedom unless we are united. We'll fall as Ala Mhigo fell. But my remonstrations fall upon deaf ears." 

"As do mine," Minfilia nodded. "But this development surely can be considered a step in the right direction?"

“I agree. Ser Aymeric appears to be a man of position and influence rather than the simple go-betweens we’ve encountered previously. So I am ...hopeful, let us say.” 

Elai looked at both of them - excited, _eager_, even Minfilia, who ought to know better - and wondered if she was the only realist in the room. "Ser Aymeric is a man who wants something, nothing else." 

"Of course," Alphinaud agreed. "But in this instance it is we who have what he wants." 

Elai widened her eyes. "Excuse me?" 

Minfilia cleared her throat. "It is Elai who has what he wants." 

Alphinaud coloured up. "Ah yes… of course… I mean… Naturally it's your efforts to ingratiate yourself with Lord Haurchefant that have borne fruit today. Excellent work. His fondness is like to prove very useful to…" 

"Alphinaud…" Minfilia said. Very quietly. 

"Yes?" 

Elai realised that, after all, it was as well she hadn't come armed. And to think she'd fancied herself in sympathy with the brat just minutes before. "I do not _ingratiate_ myself with anyone, Alphinaud." She could hear the icy venom dripping from her own words. "I am Haurchefant's friend because he is kind and honourable, and I care what happens to him. I couldn't give a chocobo's arse about his position as Lord of Dragonhead or as a son of House Fortemps. If you haven't realised that about me yet…" She shook her head. "I despair, Alphinaud. Really I do."

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always had real issues with Alphinaud all the way through ARR. I found him arrogant, and I resented being treated like a tool in his workbox. Clearly Elai agrees with me!  
Thanks for reading. If you like my work, please leave kudos. Please leave comments if you have anything to say.  
Many thanks to everyone on a certain delicious Discord server which has welcomed me with open arms :)


	17. Swimming in a fish bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Aymeric didn't go so well ...

"So …” Haurchefant stood up behind his desk and frowned at Elai as she sank down onto one of the nearby benches. “You’re safely returned, Fury be blessed. My apologies for all the alarums and excursions. I fear you’ve had a busy few hours.”

Elai stretched out her legs and wriggled her toes. They were so cold she could barely feel them any longer. Traipsing around Central Coerthas in search of heretics wasn’t high on her list of favoured occupations. "Not hardly your fault, Haurchefant. At least it gave me something to take my temper out on." She leaned forward and started to unfasten the clasps on her boots.

"Ah yes,” he said, coming around the desk to help her disarm. “I rather thought you seemed a little out of sorts." 

"Ever the master of understatement." she observed. 

His eyes glinted. “Do you need to vent your rage yet more?”

“Are you offering?”

“I see you're in a dangerous mood, my friend.”

She scowled at him. “It doesn’t sound like you see _at all_.”

“Do you plan on quarrelling with me?”

“Well you set Mister Velvety Blue and Perfect on me …”

Haurchefant started to laugh. “Mister who?”

“Your Lord Captain Thingummybob. Ser Aymeric ‘look at my beautifully disarranged hair’ Borel.”

“De Borel.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Mustn’t forget the ‘de’.”

“Halone have mercy.” Haurchefant was still grinning. “You are most out of temper.”

“Well I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I’m freezing cold. I’ve had my fill of heretics, and I’ve definitely had my fill of politicians. I’m sure Alphinaud and your Aymeric think themselves marvellous and could both listen to their own voices until the next Calamity strikes, but I’d much rather they’d spare me the pleasure.” She frowned at him. “That was sarcasm. It absolutely wasn’t a pleasure.”

Haurchefant stopped smiling, took hold of her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Come now. This won’t do at all. Let’s get you warm and fed, and then we can talk about Aymeric.”

She wiggled her fingers in his, trying to escape. “I don’t want to talk about Aymeric. He’s an adult version of Alphinaud. With better hair.”

“What has Master Alphinaud done to overset you so thoroughly?”

“He continues to breathe?”

Haurchefant blinked, and Elai bit her lip.

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled, moderating her voice somewhat. “I’ll allow that was excessive.”

“Come,” he said. “I’ll settle you before the fire with blankets and the like, and I shall fetch you hot chocolate and delicious snacks…”

“Brandy.”

“Once you’re warm perhaps.”

“Hot chocolate with brandy?”

“That sounds most unpleasant.”

Elai had to acknowledge that he wasn’t mistaken. “Yeah, I guess. But your passion for hot chocolate is very strange, my lord.”

“Nonsense. Hot chocolate is perfection. A king amongst drinks. It is more perfect even than … what did you call him again? - Mister Blue Velvet? I must remember to tell Aymeric of this …”

“Haurchefant!”

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to start repeating the wild things I say to the people I say them about …”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Will you tie me up and beat me?”

Elai stared at him, and he went off into paroxysms of laughter again.

She folded her arms. “What happened to looking after me and getting me food? Delicious snacks, you said.”

“Yes, yes.” He grinned at her. “But you looked so stern, ‘twas impossible to resist. My fondness for a jest is exasperating, I know. Come, let’s get you to the fire. Corentiaux?” Haurchefant raised his voice. “Please bring blankets for the Warrior of Light. Many blankets. And that small table from beside the stairs.” He smiled down at her as he settled her on a chair beside the hearth. “I’ll fetch us something to eat.”

She smiled at Ser Corentiaux when he brought her the blankets - indeed a multitude of them - and she wrapped herself up in a nest of the same. She folded her knees up in front of herself and chafed at her feet to warm them; as the chill wore off, they stung, and she wished someone - an inventive arcanist perhaps - would come up with a way of enchanting her boots so that they kept the cold at bay. Or she should just stop visiting Dragonhead so often… Hmm. Clearly not going to happen. She wrapped yet more blankets around her feet and angled them towards the fire. Corentiaux brought the table Haurchefant had mentioned and laid yet more blankets on top of it. Then he handed her a book. The one about the many and manifolde uses of goblin waxe…. 

Elai looked at it and then at Corentiaux. "Goblin waxe?"

He blushed. "Yaelle said you found it intriguing."

"I don't think intriguing was the word I used, but okay. Thank you for your help." 

"You're most welcome, Lady Elai." 

"Just Elai," she told him absentmindedly. When she realised he was still standing there, looking down at her, she closed the book again. "Is something wrong." 

"No, no. I wanted… that is… I don't know if anyone in Ishgard has ever thanked you, Lady Elai. For the many times you risk your own life to help us. I know I'm not alone in wishing to offer my gratitude; many here and at Whitebrim feel the same. At first… well… your appearance was… " He hesitated and blushed a little.

Elai grinned. "You mean I look like a dragon, yeah?" 

His blush deepened. "Only until we came to know you, my lady. What I mean to say is, you spent the day hunting heretics to spare the men of House Fortemps and House Durendaire. We are grateful. If there is ever any service we can offer in return, we offer it to you gladly." 

She stared up at him and felt her throat constrict. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had thanked her for doing what she now thought of as her duty. Thancred after the Praetorium probably, and that was moons ago. 

"You're welcome, Corentiaux," she said gruffly. 

He nodded and walked away while Elai stared down at the book in her lap without really seeing it. After a little while she opened it again at a random page. 

'An Usefulle and Moste Faire Tincture for the Relievynge of Rheum,' said the title on the first line. Clearly the writer had attended the same school of elocution as Urianger. And what, in the name of all the Twelve, was rheum? She flicked through further pages until a badly printed woodcut towards the back of the book caught her eye. It was difficult to make out what it represented, but the headline was impossible to miss. 'As Above Soe Belowe, Fourteen Starres Fourteen Showe.'

It reminded her of Ramuh's words when she asked about Emet Selch. Fourteen signs in the heavens, fourteen signs on the earth, he'd said. Which meant absolutely nothing to Elai but was too similar to the words in the book to be a coincidence. She peered at the page again, trying to make sense of the spider scrawl writ therein. 

"Still frowning?" Haurchefant said, making her startle. "This won't do at all."

"I… I'm fine." Elai felt slightly guilty although she'd no idea why. "Something smells delicious." 

Haurchefant was setting bowls and plates down on the table. "Spiced meatballs in Medguistl's special tomato sauce. And vegetable fritters. There's baked apple and dumplings if you fancy something sweet. Apparently hot chocolate is de trop with the food so we shall drink that later." He pulled up another chair and beamed at her. "I trust you'll stay the night, my dear?" 

Elai broke one of the fritters in half and dunked it into the steaming savoury tomato. "I need to search Snowcloak tomorrow for these tunnels Iceheart and her people are using, so yeah, I'm not going anywhere for a while." 

Haurchefant’s smile dimmed a little. "I'll not deny I'd much prefer you stay safely at Dragonhead and permit _me_ to hunt for Iceheart in your stead.”

She arched her eyebrows. "Your Ser Aymeric is only too pleased to risk me, however." 

"You really didn't take to Aymeric, did you?" 

"I don't like politicians. The more suave they are, the less I like them." 

"You do Aymeric an injustice," Haurchefant said. "He’s a great deal more than a politician, though I don’t deny he’s that too. He’s one of my oldest friends and - like myself - he wishes to see a rejuvenated Ishgard and an end to the Dragonsong War."

“Hmm ...well ...I’ll take your word for it. Since it’s you.” She scooped up another mouthful of the sauce, which was delicious. “Mind if I borrow this book? It’s a lot more interesting than its title suggests.”

“You’re most welcome, my dear. Help yourself to any of the volumes in the Keep.”

She grinned at him. “Perhaps I need a study as well as a bedroom?”

Haurchefant grinned back. “I would offer you a corner of my desk, but I fear me you’d be too much of a distraction.”

“Not at all. I can work quietly when I need to.”

“Tis your beauty would distract me, lady.”

She stopped with a meatball halfway to her mouth and fixed him with a glare. “Don’t start that nonsense.”

“You’re no fun,” he said gloomily. “Flirtation is an art form.”

“When you do it, no doubt. But I’m too ...plain-spoken for poetry. And I’ve no intention of ruining our friendship by indulging in any kind of dalliance, no matter how light-hearted. Or in adding my name to your long list of conquests.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Do you truly think there’s a long list?”

She looked at him. “If there isn’t, there ought to be.” He gave a shout of laughter which she ignored. “You’re the kindest, sweetest man, Haurchefant. And I do know all the stories are mostly just that. Stories. I think if you met your love, you’d give them everything, and no one could tell any more stories about you.”

“I never would have thought you such a romantic,” he said.

Elai shrugged. “I don’t think I am. I’ve never felt that way about anyone. But my friend Tem loved his wife Viola so, and he believed she loved him back.”

“You say that as though you doubted it?”

She shrugged again. “Viola was never serious about anything for more than a moment. She and Tem seemed very happy but …” She bit her lip. “Well, they both died at Carteneau, so neither of them had to face life without the other. A blessing of a sort, I guess.”

“You miss them still.” His voice was gentle.

“I try not to think about them,” she admitted. “Or about Master Ayahe who was my mentor back in Kugane and the children I was at school with. I used to think ...well ...I talked to Master Ayahe about it once, how I always felt like I had a hole inside me, a space. A gap. I used to think it should have held my parents, but my master said I shouldn’t try to fill it with a person. In a way, he was right. But perhaps I never met the right shaped person for the gap, you know?”

He nodded. “I do. In some ways my childhood was like to yours. Maman - my mother - died when I was young, and I went to live with my father and stepmother. My stepmother loathed me, as you might imagine, and my older brother saw me as an interloper. Had it not been for Aymeric and Estinien - both strays like me for different reasons - I don’t think I would have survived. It was ...very bleak.”

She found that her heart ached for the little boy he’d once been. She could picture him - once hopeful and exuberant - being ground down by grief and prejudice and loneliness. “Then I’ll forgive Aymeric his politick perfection since he took care of you.”

He grinned widely but then his smile took on a more thoughtful aspect. “I was very young when Maman died, no more than eight summers. But even then I wondered why she loved my father so. Not there is anything in him that isn’t lovable, of course; I admire and respect him greatly. But Maman suffered from loving him; she bore a child out of wedlock, her family cast her off, and she was ostracised by her friends. All she had left was him.”

“And you,” Elai protested fiercely.

“Oh yes, and me,” Haurchefant acknowledged. “But I was un petit, I couldn’t protect her from the cruel words and the averted eyes. I asked her why we stayed in Ishgard, and she told me that her soul and my father’s were matched beyond life and time. She truly believed that both their souls were bound for eternity, and each time they met, they would love each other, despite any barriers or boundaries.”

“I suppose,” Elai said slowly. “ That thinking so would help her. In a way. If she believed it was meant. Inevitable.”

“It did help her, that is true. It gave her strength where otherwise she might have crumbled. But it also condemned her to a miserable life as my father’s pensioner, dependent on his good will. Not that he ever mistreated her, he loved her dearly. When she fell ill, she fretted horribly about what might befall me when she was gone.” He sighed and shook his head. “I find I don’t care for the notion that two people might be bound in such a way, with no free will in the matter.”

Elai - who despised the ideas of fate and destiny - agreed with him most vehemently.

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't trust Aymeric when my OC first encountered him. He was way too smooth and gorgeous. I also like the idea that he is what Alphinaud aspires to become so I draw parallels.
> 
> I've been trying to rewrite a previous chapter this week as well (I really feel like it doesn't work as well as I hoped) so this is a bit short. Perhaps?
> 
> Thanks for writing, leaving kudos and commenting. And thanks to the lovely Discord group for being a lovely Discord group :)


	18. Year after Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another blast from the past, another encounter with Emet Selch

Elai rose early the following morning in order to travel to Whitebrim to discuss the best manner and means to search Snowcloak. Ser Drillemont had already offered some of his men to assist; to her surprise Haurchefant also appeared as she was eating a speedy breakfast in the kitchen - booted and cloaked - and announced that he was going with her.

“You’re always plunging off on adventures without me,” he complained. “For once there’s no paperwork awaiting my urgent attention, so I am set to be your squire on this occasion.”

Elai shrugged. “Well I’m not going to turn down help. Although there’s nothing particular adventurous about searching the cliffs and crevasses at Snowcloak for tunnels that may not even exist.”

He helped himself to a chunk of fried bacon from her plate. “Nonsense. It will be exhilarating.”

“Less exhilarating for you if you persist in stealing my breakfast.”

He gave her a lascivious wink that made her laugh. Medguistl threatened to hit him with a ladle if he continued to misbehave in her kitchen. 

“See how I am bullied and tormented in my own home?” he cried.

“Get on wi' yer,” Medguistl muttered.

After they ate, they gathered their kit together and went outside. It was a bright, crisp morning, the sky a brilliant blue, the snow so diamond-sparkling it hurt Elai’s eyes. Haurchefant stood taking great, extravagant breaths of air with such a look of delight on his face that she had to laugh again. She was never sure how much he exaggerated his enthusiasm, just for effect, but it was certainly catching.

“Tis a glorious morning,” he said, grinning back at her. “Let us enjoy it.”

She couldn’t argue. Even though she knew they were like to spend most of the day cold and shivering as they searched for the heretics’ lair. And the road to Whitebrim was a spectacular one, passing as it did by the Gates of Judgement and the great bridge that led to Ishgard. She’d stood on the cliffside many times - even before the Calamity, when the land was still green - and gazed on the towers and spires of the forbidden city. Its isolation - its impenetrability - lent it a misty mystique, an air of seductive romance. Truth to be told, all she’d heard of it since belied any kind of seduction. But she still always stopped and looked whenever she passed by, driven by that memory.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Haurchefant said as she pulled up her chocobo.

“Mmmm.” Elai nodded. It _was_ beautiful, even if she didn’t trust the beauty any more. “I wonder if the snow will ever pass and the land go back to how it was before.”

“Some say the coming of winter demonstrates Halone’s fury, that we still labour to defeat the Dravanians.”

She turned in her saddle to look at him. “Why would a goddess dislike the Dravanians so?”

He shrugged. “Why would she love Ishgard? She does and says what the priests say she does and says.” He pointed to where the towers reached their vertiginous pinnacle. “The basilica of Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral. Heart of the Holy See.”

“Black heart?” Elai said quietly.

“Mayhap,” he replied, equally quietly.

She stared at the lofty spires and arches, narrowing her eyes. The sky seemed to close in all at once, blue and silver rushing to engulf her, and she felt dizzy. Claws of pain dug into her head and neck. There was time enough to feel Haurchefant’s arm reach for her, to stop her from tumbling from her chocobo, and then everything plummeted into an all too familiar blackness.

When she opened her eyes again - still reeling somewhat from the pain - several things happened at once.

She looked down to find herself holding a dagger. Her grip was cack-handed. Awkward. And her hands shook. But the blade edge was close enough to someone's throat to… 

"Fuck!" Elai dropped the knife. Onto the naked chest of the man she'd apparently been about to kill. "Nophica's tits!" 

"How very fortuitous," Emet Selch said. 

Elai felt sick. Suppose she'd opened her eyes two seconds later? "Fuck!" 

"Just so. Your timing is excruciatingly perfect, Elai Khatahdin." 

"Gods… _Gods! _" 

"Gratifying though your concern is…?" He made it sound like a question. "Do you think you could bear to unshackle me from this… ah… this _slab_? Before she wakes up again?" 

"She who?" Elai asked, looking around for something to break the chains that bound him. 

"I see your grasp of language is still as picturesque as ever. The keys are fastened to the chatelaine at your belt, by the way." 

She started to shuffle through the keys. "And I see your insouciance hasn't been dimmed, even by a close brush with death." 

He bared his teeth in what she guessed was supposed to be a smile. "It's not over till it's over." 

Her turn to smile. "Well I knew that, but I didn't realise you did. Think this is the right key. Keep still." 

The sockets around his wrists had bruised and battered his pale skin, and she didn't want to hurt him. He'd clearly tried to escape the shackles. Without success. Her mouth dried and her throat closed as she remembered the black-winged angel in her dream. "Wha… what happened?" 

"She must have slipped something into my drink." He sat up as Elai moved to unfasten his ankles too. "Something fast-acting. I remember feeling a little dizzy, then nothing. When I woke up, I was here. And I couldn't use my magick to free myself." His eyes narrowed as he stared around the room. "They must have some sort of aether dampener." 

Elai dropped the chains down onto the marble slab as Emet Selch stood up gingerly. It was the least graceful she'd ever seen him. “An aether dampener?" 

"Sometimes I forget the paucity of your education." 

She stuck out her tongue at him. "And sometimes I forget how much of an arse you are." 

"Regretting rushing to my rescue?" 

She shrugged. "Nah. You may be an arse, but you're my arse." 

He seemed to find that funnier than it merited.

She folded her arms and looked at him while he chortled. "So what now then?" 

"Time for an adventure." 

"You're as bad as Haurchefant." 

"Lucky Haurchefant," Emet Selch said. "I wonder where she dumped my clothes? I'm fond of that coat." 

Elai was trying not to think about the planes and shadows of his unclothed upper body. For a mage he was far too… too buff frankly. It was aggravating. He must work out or something. She would have much preferred he didn't. 

“What are you snarling about?" Emet Selch asked. 

"You’re hearing things." Life would be more straightforward if - well, it would be most straightforward if her Echo visions stopped altogether, but that wasn’t very likely - t’would be more straightforward if she could make up her mind if she liked him or not. He fascinated her, and she was attracted to him physically; his dry wit amused her more than she would let him know, and he was clearly intelligent and powerful. But … but there were lots of ‘buts’ and they were all significant ones. Who was he, really? What did he want? Did their goals align or conflict?

He’d begun prowling around the room, examining the walls. Not that there was much to examine. It was a hexagonal-shaped space with a high, vaulted ceiling held up by columns. The slab where she’d found him sat in the centre, underneath a crystalline ceiling boss, faceted like a diamond. The walls were plain plaster, stained pale green. The pillars were rough-hewn out of a similarly pale green rock. There were no carvings, no books, nothing helpful etched into the stone to give her a hint about what was going on.

“There’s nothing here,” she said. Not even his coat, unfortunately. “I think we should get out, yeah? Before Not-me wakes up again?”

Emet Selch looked over at her and smirked. “Not-me? Interesting way to put it.”

“Well she’s clearly not me, and equally clearly I don’t know who she is so …”

"She is her Blessedness, the Damosel of the Word." 

Elai blinked and looked down at herself. Or rather down at the Damosel of the Word. She was wearing a plain green silk robe, belted at the waist. She had bare feet. "Creepy. Some kind of cultist, huh?" 

"Some kind," Emet Selch agreed. "A kind I was foolish enough to underestimate. We need to find that aether dampener."

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“You mean hands that aren’t yours?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you baulking, Elai Khatahdin?” 

Was she? Her instinct was to trust him, but she had no idea where that came from. Trusting people so blindly wasn’t something she did. On the other hand, she hadn’t woken up to find _him_ with a dagger at her throat, so he did have circumstance on his side. “Nah. Just being nosy. So where is this aether thing?”

“Relatively close,” he said. “Its field must only be localised, otherwise I would have noticed it before she drugged me.”

“And run away, I presume?”

He smirked. “I’d rather describe it as making a hasty exit.”

“So what do we do when we find it?”

“We remove it.”

“And if someone interrupts us?”

He smirked again. “You’re the Damosel. No one’s going to question you.”

“Hmm …” Elai was unconvinced. If the Damosel’s guards - fellow cultists? - saw her wandering about with the man she’d previously been about to exsanguinate, they would _have_ to ask questions. “Let’s just hope we don’t run into anyone.”

“You could reapply the manacles,” he said, lifting up his wrists. “That might preserve the illusion a little longer.”

“No thanks. They’ve done enough damage. But I _will_ take the dagger and the chains. If we do run into anyone, I’ll need weapons.” She looked around the room again. "Umm… Emet Selch? There's no door…" 

"Of course there's a door. How did we get in here otherwise?" 

"Is that a rhetorical question?" 

He sighed and looked up at the vaulted ceiling as if petitioning divine aid. "No. It's a request for you to use your brain. I know it's difficult for you…" 

She scowled. "Mayhap I should just sit here and wait for her damoselness to wake up." 

"Her Blessedness." 

Gods, he was infuriating. "Yeah. I know. I was reacting to your insult." 

"I suppose I should be thankful you noticed it was an insult." He walked over to the wall directly behind the marble slab. "Come here, Elai Khatahdin. There is a very slight depression in the plaster just so. It did nothing when I touched it so I am presuming it's keyed to the Damosel somehow. Lay your palm over… Ahhh…" There was a definite note of satisfaction in his voice as a panel slid back soundlessly to reveal a dimly lit passageway. "Excellent." 

She followed him out of the chamber. 

The passageway they found themselves in was hardly any more encouraging or uplifting. No wonder cultists were always so … so embittered and on edge. The walls were the same pale green plaster, no markings or ornamentation; They ran off into shadow in both directions.

“So what now?” Elai asked.

“We look for the aether dampener.”

“I’m guessing it’s not signposted?”

He looked at her as if he found her as infuriating as she found him. To be fair, he probably did. “It’s likely centred upon the templum so it will be nearby. A brief exploration of the area should make its whereabouts fairly obvious.”

“Right …”

“Oh, don't fret, _warrior_." The contempt in his voice stung. “I won't ask you to use that underdeveloped brain of yours. You can stand guard while I make the calculations." 

"You're an arse-rag at the butt-hole of the world," she muttered, following him down the corridor. 

He waved at her dismissively. "At least your invective is mildly entertaining."

"A used arse-rag," she shouted. 

When he stopped abruptly, she congratulated herself on finally managing to unsettle him. Until she walked up to join him at the junction in the corridor and saw the troop of guards - priests? - he'd almost walked into. 

"Uh-oh," she said. They were perhaps a little too well-armed for priests. Unless the dual headed axes they carried were ornamental. Best to assume not, though. "Gentlemen…" 

"Your Blessedness," replied the foremost, a tall Elezen male. "Is something amiss?" 

Elai tried to look like someone who could possibly be considered a blessedness. "Why do you ask that, my…" Would the Damosel call him 'my son'? "Why do you ask?" 

"We heard shouting," said one of the others. A woman by the sound of her voice. They all wore long, belted tunics in the same green as hers; their heads were shaved to a polished smoothness that argued it must be redone almost daily; and their eyelids painted a vibrant, metallic malachite. The axes hung from their belts in the same way that the chatelaine of keys hung from hers.

"The… ah… the prisoner and I were discussing theology." Thankfully the 'prisoner' had the sense to keep his mouth shut. "Some of his theories are quite fascinating but rather controversial."

She could see them all frowning.

“Why do you speak with him at all, Damosel?” the first man asked. “Did you not warn us that his words would twist the truth and turn all awry?”

“Ah … well …”

“He has seduced you with his lies,” the woman declared flatly. “Step away from him, your Blessedness. We’ll return him to his prison and free you from his menace.”

Emet Selch shrugged and held out his wrists, as though waiting for the chains. Elai looked at him, and he lowered his eyelids slowly and then looked up, above her head. She’d no idea what he was planning, but she wasn’t going to get in his way. She doubted she could deal with six guards armed with just a ceremonial dagger and no magic.

She lifted up the manacles. Emet Selch reached out for them and then - in a smooth unhurried movement that surprised her as much as it must have done the guards - he flung them up into the air. They slammed into something with a crack - the light, judging by the sudden darkness - and she felt shards of something splintering around her. The guards cried out; someone grabbed her wrist, and she moved to twist away.

“Stand still,” Emet Selch hissed into her ear.

She felt a rush of dizziness - the sense of dislocation she associated with a teleport spell - and then bright sunshine - bright, hot sunshine - made her blink and close her eyes.

“We can’t stay here,” Emet Selch said. She blinked again and stared at him. “We’re too close to the temple, they’ll send trackers out to try and find their damosel.”

Elai turned and looked around. They were several hundred yalms away from a large, cavernous entrance carved into the cliff walls. It reminded her a great deal of the ruined approaches to the Temple of Qarn in the Sargolii. “Where are we?”

He frowned at her. “Outside the temple, as I said. Give me your hand, I need to send us farther than this.”

“I thought you couldn’t use your magic.”

“I broke the dampener when I threw the chain.”

“It was in the light?”

The look he gave her was positively baleful. “Give me your hand, Elai Khatahdin, or I’ll leave you here.”

As she reached out, his fingers closed around her wrist again. She felt a flash of something - an endless rush of moments where they’d stood like this seemed to brush across her vision - and then the translocation dizziness took her again.

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are fun to write but trying to juggle what Elai learns or - more dangerously - guesses is becoming a bit complicated. Hopefully I can keep it under control (that dragon on a lead again) but if you notice any glaring issues, please let me know so I can head them off at the pass. There has been a big rewite of chapter 12 so if you are someone who's been reading since my first post, I'd love some feedback on that <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, thanks for the kudos, thanks for the comments


	19. Running over the same old ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Ascian conversation

Hermes Pylaios, the honourable Elidibus of the Convocation of Fourteen, emissary of his people - although his people were now but few in number - leaned back in his chair and considered the one before him. The man had changed very little in the last millennium, although that was to be expected of course. He still persisted in refusing to wear his mask - an act of independence intended to be infuriating - and he dressed with a flamboyance completely at odds with his position. But those who earned the title of Emet Selch were always… well… a little peculiar to say the least. And these were hardly conventional times, whatever Lahabrea said about tradition. 

Elidibus was inclined to be gracious. In any case, it had been more than a millennium since the man last graced them with his presence. Rudeness now would most likely send him straight back out again. 

Elidibus bowed his head. "Emet Selch. It's been some time." 

Hades Dispater, the honourable Emet Selch of the Convocation of Fourteen, Angel of Truth, inspected his nails. "Indeed it has. But you know how it is.” He picked up a book from the desk and flicked through it. Elidibus forbore to say anything; a reaction would only make the other man even more aggravating. “I've just been getting on with things. I believe it’s all proceeding according to plan. Would you not say so?"

Elidibus contemplated that idea for a moment. “Perhaps so.”

“You disagree?”

"I don't believe a _certain_ degree of communication regarding your progress would be inappropriate." 

Emet Selch bared his teeth. It was probably supposed to be a smile. "You may be certain I would apprise you if anything were amiss." 

The Emissary maintained a composed expression. He'd never been overly fond of the current Emet Selch, having much preferred his predecessor, who was far less volatile. This Emet Selch - especially since the Sundering - was prone to changes of mood that were impossible to predict; one never knew what might prove a trigger. "Am I to infer, therefore, that something untoward has happened?" 

The Angel of Truth sat himself down on one of the other chairs. "You might want to rein in Lahabrea. Just a suggestion." 

"Oh?" 

"I have been ...advised he’s developing a dangerous fondness for stealing bodies that don’t belong to him." 

Elidibus blinked. He'd expected one of the usual complaints that Lahabrea's impatience was interfering with some slowly-evolving scheme. Or that Lahabrea should be the one guarding Zodiark's slumber. Neither of which Elidibus necessarily disagreed with. The Sundered called him Hermes Pylaios - Hermes the Doorkeeper - but by rights _he_ should have been wandering the Source, calling souls to Zodiark's service, while Lahabrea guarded the door.

"Stealing bodies?" he said carefully. "Is such a thing even possible?" 

Emet Selch leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs, and rested his chin in his upturned hand. He looked at Elidibus. Elidibus found himself somewhat discomposed. Emet Selch cleared his throat.

"My apologies," Elidibus said stiffly. "Did you speak?" 

"Not yet." 

"I presume you're going to explain what you meant?" 

The teeth appeared again. "It would be pointless to bring it up otherwise. I have no objection to being annoying, but I draw the line at pointless." 

"As you say." 

"I do believe you've memorised a long list of platitudes, Elidibus." 

"I have to do something to pass the hours." 

"You could redecorate," said the other with a sniff. "Surely this theme of extravagant melancholia has started to pall by now?" 

Elidibus resisted the urge to look around. It was undeniable that their headquarters owed a great deal to Lahabrea’s self-indulgent architectural histrionics - a monumental paean to grief and the need for vengeance - but he’d grown used to it and seldom noticed anymore. Mostly he stayed in the small corner he’d selected as a work space; he wouldn’t call it an office since it lacked many of the basic amenities, such as shelves and filing cabinets. His books and documents were in piles on the floor, and it was almost the work of a lifetime just to stop Emmerololth from 'tidying up'. She was still in the process of recovering, and she had a long way to go before she came anywhere close to her original's majestic practicality. 

"I'm living on a dead moon," Elidibus said. "Mostly alone. And not through choice. I wouldn't describe my mood as effervescent by any means. And if you mean to tell me I should get out more…" 

Emet Selch smirked. "You're sounding like an old man." 

"Five thousand years of nursemaiding an insane primal will have that effect." 

As soon as he spoke, Elidibus regretted it. He felt the roil and twist of Zodiark's thoughts as the primal tried to focus - if something so nebulous and unconscious could be viewed as focus - and pain hammered into his skull. He stood up, digging his long nails into his own skin as a distraction. "I need a drink. Whisky?" 

"There should be an empty temple or two on the Source going spare soon," Emet Selch said, nodding his head as Elidibus held out the bottle for inspection. "Move in there, take a break. Treat yourself. One of the minions can guard the door for a century or three. It's not like you-know-who is going anywhere." 

Elidibus poured two finger-widths of whisky into two glasses and handed one over. "I'm not guarding the door to keep Zodiark in. I'm guarding it to keep _Hydaelyn_ out." 

"If Hydaelyn had the power or means to get inside," Emet Selch said, taking the glass. "She'd have done so aeons ago. She'd have Sundered the last of us, obliterated Zodiark, and gone back to sleep in her bright crystal nest. She's either too weak or too stupid to accomplish it." 

The Angel of Truth had a point. Hydaelyn's lack of concrete goals was a glaring design flaw. For all of Echo's brilliance, she'd always neglected pragmatism in favour of the ideal; Hydaelyn might be her greatest creation - just as Zodiark was Hades’ - but the primal of light had nothing to define it except a nebulous command to stop the dark primal. That its first conscious, self-decided act had been a monstrous desecration - the Sundering of their star which destroyed its own creator - showed how little care Echo had taken with the practical. 

"Excellent whisky," Emet Selch said. "Which reminds me. This business with Lahabrea."

"Ah yes." Zodiark had settled again, and Elidibus resumed his seat. "So what concerns you?"

"I've had several visits from one of the Sundered." 

"Oh? Which one?" 

Emet Selch shook his head. "I don't mean one of the minions. Although I confess I did wonder at first. I suspected Igeyorhm or Emmerololth of running point on some scheme of Lahabrea’s, and so I indulged them. I wanted to discover how they managed it.”

“Managed what?”

“Managed to clamber inside another form, one we hadn’t made for them.”

Elidibus rolled the whisky around its glass, savouring the way it glowed in the torchlight. It _was_ a very good whisky, Emmerololth hadn't lost any of her flair in that department. "Are you certain that's what's happening?" 

Emet Selch shrugged. "If not, Lahabrea's playing a very deep game. It's not like him to go for subtlety. And I struggle to see what purpose he thinks it might serve. Although, with Lahabrea, that's hardly surprising." 

"So what exactly has been happening?" 

"It began just after the first Calamity on the Source…" 

"That long ago?" Elidibus interrupted. "And you didn't mention it until now?" 

Emet Selch waved away the interruption airily. "I was investigating. The young woman involved was a shaman of the Nhole - fascinating people, very bloodthirsty - and I'd interacted with her on several occasions. She persisted in trying to find a way to prevent the Calamity even when she knew it was hopeless. I admired her courage. "

"She reminded you of Altima." Elidibus made it a statement rather than a question. 

Emet Selch's expression darkened. "Echo is dead. Hydaelyn killed her. We’ll not talk of that, if you please." 

Elidibus inclined his head. He knew the other man would refuse to talk at all otherwise. When they began to search the Source for the Sundered, Emet Selch led them. For he was the shepherd of souls and knew the colours of all. But he wouldn't search for Altima. He said she was gone, that the massive burst of aether she fed to Hydaelyn to summon the primal had destroyed not only her physical body but also her soul. 

“What I’m saying,” Emet Selch continued, flicking fingers at his lapel as if to remove some invisible speck of dirt. “Is that I _knew_ Xnanuchan, and I knew her for months before the Calamity happened. She intrigued me - she was strong and courageous - and I find it almost impossible to believe that she was the physical puppet of one of Lahabrea’s minions all that time. Moreover, when the Sundered _did_ take over her substance, I perceived it almost immediately, and the Sundered was quick to acknowledge the truth.”

“Hmm …” Elidibus tapped his nails on the desk as he pondered. “I confess I don’t know which scenario perturbs me more.”

“I’ve had more discourse with her since then,” Emet Selch offered. “Chronologically she seems to originate much further along the time-line; she described the Calamity of Lightning as thousands of years ago. She claims not to know why she takes over these other vessels for brief periods, and she blames an innate ability she possesses for these occurrences.” He cleared his throat. “She calls this ability ‘the Echo’.”

“_What_?” The shrillness of Elidibus’ voice startled even him. “She tells you this, and yet you continue to insist that …”

Emet Selch held up his hand. “Oh please. Do you take me for a fool? Who knows what knowledge she has of us, far in the future? This could all be a trap. She’s naive to the point of being disingenuous …”

“Another trait that sounds remarkably familiar,” Elidibus snarked. "Really, Hades…" 

"Really, Hermes." The mockery in Emet Selch's voice was difficult to ignore. "We cannot know if a single word she says is true. And her little game is rather transparent in its obviousness…" 

"Or she could actually be telling the truth?" 

"Hardly the most likely outcome." 

But possibly the outcome Hades Dispater longed for, Elidibus thought. It had shocked all of them when Altima left the Convocation of Fourteen; such a thing was unheard of. And when she was lost, they grieved, despite the acts that many of them saw as treachery. But Hades hadn't merely mourned a colleague; Echo Matermagna was his much beloved wife. Elidibus was unsure what the other man feared most; that Echo was truly gone and Hades would never see her again, or that her shards would never forgive him for the summoning of Zodiark. 

“So if we cannot trust her,” Elidibus said. “Why are we setting so much store by the things she tells you?”

Emet Selch gave him a withering look. “Because _something_ is clearly going on. She’s encountered Lahabrea, she knew his name. She said he’d stolen her friend’s body. How much of that is truth we can’t know. But it all bears investigation. Certainly we should be looking more closely into this ability she claims to have.” He stood up abruptly. “Believe me, Elidibus, I’m not in the habit of confiding in people. Certainly not you. If I didn’t think this warranted our close attention, I would have kept it to myself. I’d also advise against telling Lahabrea - his state of mind is suspect - but that, of course, is at your discretion.”

He turned away, towards the door.

“Hades … “ Elidibus said.

The other man ignored him except for a languid wave of his left hand as he exited the room.

# \-----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's true. The Ascians know about the Echo because of what Elai told Emet Selch ...
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos/comments, it's great to know people enjoy my work


	20. And how we found the same old fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Steps of Faith ...

“It’s demeaning,” Estinien groused. “Why should we be beholden to these ...these _adventurers_ and their cronies? Whatever became of Ishgard’s pride and valour?”

Aymeric had been listening to the Azure Dragoon’s complaints all the way from Ishgard, and he was heartily tired of it. The road to Camp Dragonhead wasn’t especially lengthy, but it had felt so that morning. Nor had Estinien ceased when they arrived and were escorted to the Intercessory. “Our pride and valour drained away when Iceheart breached our wards. You know as well as I that we cannot hope to hold back the dragons without them. We needs must accept any help offered else the city will fall. Mayhap not today or tomorrow, but it _will_ fall, Estinien.”

Estinien folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Do you really believe mere adventurers can stem the tide?”

Aymeric turned away. “They are not ‘mere adventurers’. I know you dislike the very idea of the Warrior of Light, but the tales about her are not fabrications. Haurchefant’s fondness for her doesn’t lead him to exaggerate her abilities. Not only is she a skilled warrior and powerful mage, but she also has an uncanny ability to rouse others to follow her and to inspire them to bravery and fortitude beyond mortal measure.”

Estinien didn’t respond verbally, but Aymeric - who was watching him carefully whilst appearing not to - saw his gauntleted hands tighten on his forearms. For some reason Elai Khatahdin sparked the Azure’s ire; it entertained Aymeric until he met her for himself and realised that Haurchefant’s admiration wasn’t merely the consequence of one of his wild enthusiasms. It seemed to Aymeric that Estinien was as likely to regard the Warrior as a bitter rival as he was to admire her. Such a prospect was one he could well do without; life was fraught enough without complications that might test the bonds within their triumvirate.

The Azure folded his arms and said nothing. Aymeric sighed inwardly. Estinien’s face was covered - as usual - by his helm, but it was perfectly possible to picture the storm-shot glower of his eyes.

“Why don’t you sit?” Aymeric suggested. “Relax just a little perhaps? It may be some time before the Warrior arrives.”

“So we are to dance attendance now until it suits her to honour us with her presence?”

Aymeric sighed properly this time. “Haurchefant sent out our message but minutes ago. And she’s as unlikely to be sat before the hearth at the Rising Stones with her embroidery as you are. It will likely take some time for them to contact her. Let’s not fabricate reasons to be cold and haughty out of a mess of nothings.”

That made Estinien turn his head. “A mess of nothings, is it?”

“Estinien …”

“Oh, don’t take that tone, Lord Commander. I know well you think me nonsensical to have qualms about your precious hero…”

Aymeric kept a stern hold over his temper. The years had presented him with many opportunities to practise when it came to Estinien. The man was his dear friend - and a most treasured lover - but he would have tested the patience of Saint Valeroyant himself. “Not so much nonsensical as needlessly jealous, my friend.”

“Why would I be jealous of a giggling girl?”

“Exactly.”

Estinien bared his teeth but swallowed whatever curses he’d been about to spit out when the door opened. Haurchefant came into the intercessory followed by one of his people. The woman set down a serving tray of drinks upon the table.

“Hot chocolate, sers,” she said. “The one on the left is belongin’ to yerself, Lord Commander. Extra birch syrup on Lord Haurchefant’s orders.”

Aymeric smiled at her, and she bobbed him a curtsey with a blush. 

“Thank you, Medguistl,” Haurchefant told her. “Master Alphinaud is on his way, gentlemen, and will be with us shortly. Lady Minfilia has agreed to speak with the other leaders on our behalf also, although she isn’t very encouraging about her hopes for success. She’s contacted the Warrior of Light who’ll join us as soon as she’s able.”

“My thanks, Lord Haurchefant.” Aymeric was very conscious of Medguistl watching them with bright, curious eyes. High-ups from Ishgard didn’t visit Dragonhead often, but he’d become almost a regular caller over the last few weeks. “Will you join us while we wait?”

“Ye left yer drink in the kitchen, milord,” Medguistl pointed out. “I can’t be running back and forth all afternoon, I got dinner to prepare.”

To Aymeric’s amusement, Haurchefant followed her meekly out of the room.

“He cannot even control his own people,” Estinien complained.

Aymeric frowned at him. “Haurchefant knows which battles are worth fighting. For Halone’s sweet sake, sit and drink your chocolate and stop this incessant griping.”

“Chocolate is not a drink.”

“Estinien …”

The dragoon grinned, and it was like a storm ending suddenly and the sun coming out. It made Aymeric smile in return, although he would have preferred to stay stern for a moment or two longer.

“Haurchefant says hot chocolate is the king of drinks,” he said.

Estinien sat down on a nearby stool and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Not everything the mad lord says is quoted from the Enchiridion.”

“And not everything the Azure complains about,” Aymeric retaliated. “Is as much of a problem as he makes out.”

“In your opinion, Lord Commander.”

“You consider yourself a better judge?”

The Azure picked up a pottery mug from the tray and peered into it. “I’m not inclined to always assume the best.”

Aymeric leaned back in his chair. “Regarding beverages?”

“Regarding people, you fool.”

“I can hear you two hurling barbs at each other from the courtyard,” Haurchefant said, standing in the doorway. He was carrying two more pottery mugs. “The Warrior of Light is arrived. She’s divesting herself of sundry carcasses she acquired along the way, and then she’ll join us.”

Aymeric laughed. Estinien stood up, abandoning his hot chocolate, and leaned against the wall again.

“You have the Warrior do your hunting for you now?” he demanded, sounding scornful.

Haurchefant shrugged. “Elai has some sort of arrangement with Medguistl, I haven’t enquired as to the details.” He put the drinks down upon the table. “You’ll discover that the Warrior is prone to endearing herself to people in a myriad of ways. Unlike some I could mention.”

“Don’t provoke him further,” Aymeric cautioned. “He’s already full of griping. I would have left him behind except that he insisted upon assessing the Warrior’s dragon-slaying abilities in person.”

Haurchefant frowned. “What he does he want us to do, bait Svara into yet another assault on the Steel Vigil? Elai scaled the Agrius and fought Midgardsormr himself. I doubt there’s room to wonder about her skills.”

“Quite so.”

Estinien folded her arms. “According to _her_ telling of the tale, she fought Midgardsormr.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” demanded a new voice.

All three of them turned, although Aymeric noted that Haurchefant was smiling; he must have known the Warrior was near. Sometimes Aymeric was wont to wonder if the Lord of Dragonhead sowed seeds of dissension on purpose.

“Lady Elai,” he said. “Thank you for joining us.”

She unwound a long scarf from around her neck and tossed it onto the table with her leather gloves. “I’d say that you’re welcome, but I’m not sure you are. Not anymore at any rate.” She glanced at Haurchefant. “No Alphinaud?”

“Not yet.”

“Thank the gods for small mercies, I guess.” She appeared to pay no attention to Estinien - who stood very still and silently in the corner - but Aymeric could tell she watched him, in the same way she watched Lucia when his second accompanied him, alert to any possibility of a threat. He believed it instinctual; she would register everyone in a room and assess their potential, even if she didn’t do it consciously. “So I gather from Minfilia that you need my assistance again?”

Estinien muttered something, too low for Aymeric to make it out. No doubt the Warrior heard it too, but she didn’t react.

“Indeed so,” Aymeric said. “We cannot hope to hold the city if Nidhogg and his horde turn their entire attention upon it, and such seems to be their intention.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked at her. In the flesh, she was both less and more imposing than the stories of her deeds made her sound.

By Elezen standards, she was tiny, only a hands-breadth over five fulms. The ornate falchion she wore sheathed on her back was nigh on as tall as she was. But she stood calm and confident, and her tri-coloured eyes watched the world with resolute steadfastness. Her very differences - her dark curved horns, the scales on her skin, her tail, which made her so alien to Ishgardian eyes - made her stand out, but it was some indefinable allure - a luminescence Aymeric couldn’t explain - that caught and held people’s attention. She was no courtier, no flatterer - indeed she was brusque, even sharp-tongued - but her honesty was attractive. He very much wondered what Estinien was thinking about her.

“Before we move on to the subject of reinforcements,” he said. “I would introduce you to a close friend and stalwart ally. May I present to you Ishgard's Azure Dragoon?”

# \------------

Elai - acutely conscious of Haurchefant grinning at her like a painted gargoyle - turned her head to regard the figure in dark purple armour. His intense stillness had caught her attention as soon as she entered the Intercessory, but she’d chosen to ignore him. Especially having overheard his comment about Midgardsormr. He was, she thought, a typically myopic Ishgardian.

“The valour of Ishgard’s dragoons is famous …” she said coolly, happy to imply that perhaps said valour didn’t extend to the man before her.

Aymeric blinked. “They are formidable warriors all. Yet even among such masters of the lance, Estinien is without equal. He, out of all the warriors of Ishgard, was chosen to wield the power of dragons, and may thus contend with any Dravanian.”

Now _that_ was interesting. “Wield the power of dragons in what way, Ser Aymeric?”

“You flatter me overmuch, Lord Commander,” the dragoon interjected. His voice was harsh and deep, especially in contrast to Aymeric’s velvet tones. Everything about him was spiky and unyielding. “If I was ever without equal, it appears that is no longer the case.” He turned his head towards Elai, but his helmet still hid most of his face. “So you are the adventurer of whom they speak …” His gravelly voice lingered just a little too long on the word ‘adventurer’. “I see now why my blood fair sang in … anticipation of our meeting.”

Haurchefant cleared his throat. Elai looked at him, and so did the other two. When the lord saw all of them turn their eyes in his direction, he grinned.

“Giggling mountebank,” the dragoon muttered.

Elai folded her arms. “I’d advise you not to missay the Lord of Dragonhead in my hearing, Ser Azure.”

Aymeric stood up. “That’s quite enough, Estinien. Haurchefant. Pray excuse my friends, Lady Elai.” He bowed to her. It was hard to tell with Ser Aymeric - he gave much better blank face than Alphinaud did - but she thought he looked perhaps just a little sheepish. “They are inclined to forget the object at hand in pursuit of their own entertainment.”

Haurchefant stood up also. “My apologies too, Elai. I allowed my inclination to … tease Estinien to get the better of me.” The way he lingered on the word ‘tease’ made her frown at him.

“Apologies accepted,” she said slowly, eyes still narrowed. “I presume the matter in hand is the prospect of a Dravanian assault on Ishgard itself?”

“It is.” Aymeric nodded.

“And what do you require of me?”

“Your presence on the Steps of Faith. With our wards disabled, tis there they are like to strike hardest. We believe Nidhogg means to hurl his Horde against Daniffen’s Collar and thus shatter our remaining defences.”

She glanced quickly at the Azure. “My turn to apologise now, Ser Dragoon. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name …?” She heard Haurchefant clear his throat again and was very careful not to look in that direction.

The other man didn’t answer for a second. She was just beginning to think he might be impossible to work with - no matter how close in friendship to the other two - but then he inclined his head slightly and said, “Estinien. Estinien Wyrmblood.”

“My thanks, Ser Estinien. I’m happy to offer my blade if Ishgard requires it. But, given Ser Aymeric’s … glowing account of your prowess, I doubt my help will be needed.”

“Aymeric is prone to exaggeration,” replied the dragoon.

“You don’t wield the power of dragons then?”

Definitely a cough from Haurchefant.

“Permit me to explain,” the dragoon said, his voice ever harsher. “Through the power of his Eye - which I carry as Azure - I have become the vessel of Nidhogg’s strength. His essence has stolen into my very blood.”

“That sounds … unpleasant.”

“Understanding one’s enemy is part of the battle. As I’m sure you’re well aware. Many of the dragons are old and cunning, and age doesn’t rob them of their strength as it does us. They endure through the endless march of years. Patient. Calculating. Inexorable. You must understand, these creatures don’t share our perception of time. And that is especially true of the great wyrms, who spend centuries in slumber only to wake and resume their campaign as if mere hours had passed.”

He sounded to Elai almost as though he admired them. Which perhaps he might after so many years of war. She preferred _not_ to understand her foes too well for fear that understanding might turn into empathy. “As I said, I’m happy to offer you my blade. And to ask if others wish to join me. But I can’t speak on behalf of the Scions or the Grand Companies.” She had a feeling that Alphinaud might try to flex his political muscles over the matter of the Scions’ involvement; if the brat tried to stop her from helping, however, she’d have a stern word or two for him. Matters hadn’t improved between them since the business with the heretics and Lady Iceheart; it wasn’t entirely untrue that she’d agreed to Aymeric’s request merely to annoy Alphinaud.

As if thought conjured him, there was a knock at the door, and Alphinaud Leveilleur came in. He stopped on the threshold when he noticed Elai.

“Oh ...ah ...you’re here already, Elai? I didn’t ...that is to say I …” He faltered, and she widened her eyes.

“Planning to have your discussion without me?” she asked coolly.

“No, no, of course not. I mean …”

“It’s fine. Alphinaud. Don’t worry about it. I already told Ser Aymeric I’m happy to help out, And I imagine some of the Ruly Gentlemen will join me too.” She picked up her gloves and scarf from the table. “So I’m sure we won’t miss the Crystal Braves if you decide their involvement is too politically explosive.” She gave the gaping Alphinaud a cloyingly sweet smile, nodded to Ser Aymeric, and teleported herself directly out of the Intercessory to the Free Company house.

# \------------

“Fucking hells,” Kit muttered. “That is one fucking big-assed dragon.”

They’d just stepped onto the Steps of Faith from the outer gates, and the scene in front of them was one of chaotic skirmishing. A horde of wyrmkin harried the defenders who were attempting to protect the arcane wards of Saint Daniffen’s Collar; there was rubble and bodies and wrecked armaments strewn across the stone. But the biggest threat was clearly the vast creature that stalked - ponderously but inexorably - towards the glowing runes of the next ward.

“Name of Vishap apparently,” Elai said, checking the grips on her boots and gauntlets one last time. “One of Nidhogg’s brood. His sire bred him that big on purpose, he doesn’t move fast, but he’s impossible to stop.”

Godric shaded his eyes as he peered down the length of the bridge. “Don’t wanna get stood on by that, for sure.”

“Yeah.” Elai closed her eyes and began to summon Ifrit-egi. She felt the others edge away from her a little as the fiery manikin took shape. “Ser Lucia says Vishap seems focused on reaching the Gates of the Worthy, which makes sense, I guess. A few blows from those claws, and everything’ll crumple. So if anyone has any suggestions …?”

As she opened her eyes again, she looked at Kettle, who frowned and crossed her arms.

“Let’s see …” the Viera said slowly. “Those towers. Alongside the parapets. Are they functional or decorative only?”

Elai narrowed her eyes. It was a beautiful day, exquisite even, if you ignored the shouts and groans and the roaring of vengeful dragons. The sky was a brilliant, heart-stopping blue, with nary a cloud in sight. Ishgard’s spires and arches rose up into the blue like the frosted decorations on an extravagant cake. It was hard to believe a battle took place just a few yalms away. “They’re functional, I think. What are you planning?”

“If we can move some of the catapults into those towers, the smaller catapults, per’aps. Ones that fire metal bolts or ‘ooks or something of that sort so that we can fasten chains to them. We can fire them at the dragon and ‘old ‘im in place. At least for a little while. It won’t take ‘im so long to break free, of course, but we may stop ‘im reaching the next ward.”

“I’ll organise the catapults,” Kit said. “Godric, come with me, you can do the right hand towers. We want projectiles that will stay embedded in the dragon, right?”

Kettle nodded. “Exactly so. Elai, Lily and I will harass him in the meantime. Ardent, if you can take the others to Ser Lucia and offer up your services to keep the lesser ones at bay, please. We don’t want them attacking the catapults."

Elai drew the falchion and called Ifrit to hover at her left shoulder. "I'll try and get Vishap's attention. If I can hurt him enough, he might stop focusing on the wards." She swung the blade back and forth, flexing her muscles. "Ready?" 

"Go, go," Kettle said, drawing her own sword. 

Lily whistled to Archie, and the carbuncle did a tail flip and bounded off towards the bridge. Elai whooped, exhilaration and adrenaline fizzing through her veins, and followed. She sent Ifrit swooping down towards the great dragon; she could hear the summon inside her head, roaring and crackling like an out-of-control fire. The egi had grown more biddable as it learned she offered targets for its heated rage.

As Ifrit swept up underneath Vishap and clawed at the monster’s softer under-belly, Elai roared an answering challenge to that of the dragon. Nophica’s tits, she loved her job …

# \------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long hiatus. The build-up to christmas and then the recovery from Christmas put all my creative projects on hold for a while. But I'm excited to reach the end of ARR with this - just a couple more to go - and get started on HW.
> 
> Please read, please comment, your feedback is always great to hear.


	21. Wish you were here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bloody banquet

It was very quiet in the Free Company house. 

Pretty much everyone had gone into Ul'dah for the celebrations. Well the fireworks and the ale and to sneak a peek at all the assembled dignitaries. Rumour insisted the Lord Commander of Ishgard himself was attending, something unusual enough to have half the city out on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. 

"He's very pretty," Elai said. "Bit of a stuffed shirt. Just your type, Kettle." 

Kettle didn't dignify that with an answer. If she had a type, it was apparently tall, arrogant, blond Garleans who couldn't be trusted and who disappeared - possibly irretrievably - into the abyss. Not that she cared. She hated Garleans. Especially the ones called Nero tol Scaeva. She hated the Crystal Tower too. And celebrations in Ul'dah. 

"I shall stay 'ere," she said. "Someone 'as to look after the 'ouse."

"Aww, come on." Kit batted his eyelashes at her. "It'll be fun." 

Kettle had no wish to be cajoled. "I don't like parties." 

"Now that's not true," Godric said. "When we travelled down from Islabard, you drank all the young bucks under the table." 

"Those weren't parties. Those were card games where they gambled more than they could afford because they thought I might sleep with them and then ended up face down in a pool of their own vomit whilst I cleared out their belongings." 

Godric nodded. "Yeah, like I said. Parties."

Elai and Kit started laughing. Kettle sighed. Thinking of the old days - the hard days, when just finding food was a struggle and evading Garlean conscription was worse - didn't improve her mood. What was _wrong_ with her? So what if the void had swallowed tol Scaeva? Good riddance to him. She didn't like him anyway. 

"I ’ave things to do," she said. "Important things." 

"Like?" Lily asked. 

"Rosters. Accounts. Tallies of equipment." 

"That can wait till tomorrow surely?" 

"No." 

"Why ever not?" 

Kettle scowled. "Because I do not like parties, and it seems I need an excuse to miss this one? Is not like I am insulting the Sultana if I don't go, I ‘aven’t been invited to the feast." 

"But you've been invited to the fireworks," Kit said. "By me and Godric. We need you to protect us from all the ogling women. Elai and Lily _have_ been invited to the feast so we'll be all abandoned if you don't come." 

Kettle snorted. "I think you will manage quite fine without me. But I'll keep my linkpearl equipped, 'ow about that? I can yell at the ogling women from a distance if it is needed." 

Kit sighed and looked woebegone. Kettle took no notice. They really would have a much better time without her. 

"Well I need go," Lily said. "I have to meet my parents beforehand - my mother still insists on vetting my clothes - and she won't let me take Archie either. Even though Nanamo adores Archie. But he does make a beeline for the dessert table, regardless of the occasion, which can be a bit embarrassing."

"Not to mention messy," Elai added. "I should go too, I need to get changed.” She nodded at Kettle. “I hate parties too, if that helps any.”

“But you are the main attraction,” Kettle said.

“Yeah. That’s why I hate them. Although in this instance I think Ser Aymeric is really the main attraction. And that will only increase when they set eyes on him.”

Godric folded his arms - it made the muscles in his chest and arms bulge even more massively - and wiggled his ears. “Prettier than me, huh?”

Elai grinned at him. “Only by the tiniest margin. I’m sure Merlwyb won’t be swayed.”

He flexed a little more. “No Elezen is man enough for Merlwyb.”

The festivities - to celebrate Ishgard’s return to the Eorzean Alliance and to honour the part the Warrior of Light had played in bringing it about - were to be held inside the palace, the Sultana playing hostess. The common folk and those unlucky enough - or lucky enough, depending on perspective - not to receive an invitation to the main event would make do with street celebrations. And fireworks, courtesy of the Garlond Ironworks. Kettle could hear the fireworks from inside the house. She resisted the temptation to watch them from the garden for almost a quarter of a bell.

It was a warm night, the sky clear and cloudless, the stars eclipsed in brilliance by the vibrant display. Kettle sat on the wall, her back against the gate post and stared up at the explosion of colours. It rained down over the mountains in swirls and patterns and bursts. Cid and his people had excelled themselves. But thinking of Cid made her think of Nero again - much to her chagrin - and she stomped back in doors, muttering to herself. He was _bound_ to fall on his feet; if the Void _had_ swallowed him, it would spit him back out again in a mighty hurry once it had a taste of his general, all-round obnoxiousness. 

She was still muttering when her linkpearl pinged, and she was tempted to ignore it. It was bound to be Kit, nagging her to come out. "What? I am busy." 

"Get the fuck out of there, Kettle." Godric said. 

She wrinkled her nose. "What? Where? What do you mean?" 

"Grab your stuff - get Lily's pack if you can, it should be on her bed - and 'port to Dragonhead." 

"But what 'as 'appened?" 

"The Sultana's dead."

"Nanamo is _dead_?" 

"There's no time for explanations," Godric huffed. It sounded like he was running. "Get out before the Brass Blades arrive." 

"The Brass _Blades_?" 

"Kettle, just _go_." 

The linkpearl cut out, and she pulled it from her ear and stared at it for a second. What in the Name of the Twelve…? 

But Godric wasn't one to panic. Not without due cause. She'd travelled all the way from Northern Islabard with him, danced evasion round the Garlean troops at his side, trusted him to guard her back. If he said run, she'd run. 

She flung the account books and other valuables into the safe at the back of the pantry and fled up the stairs three at time. Luckily she kept her pack ready regardless of whether she had plans or not; apparently so did Lily because it was there on the bed just as Godric said. She glanced out of the bedroom window as she picked it up and saw Brass Blades coming up the path towards the gate. "Thal's balls!" 

No time to lock up or anything. She could hear them hammering on the door as she cast the teleport spell. What in the Seven Hells had happened? Had Lily… surely not Lily? It was impossible… 

The blackness of the teleportation spell, the tumbling dislocation, jumbled her thoughts still further. She almost expected to arrive at Dragonhead to swords and shouting. When it was cold and quiet instead, she blinked and wondered what to do. Where were the others? Had Godric said they were coming to Dragonhead too?

Kettle tried the linkpearl again, but no one answered. She frowned and chewed at her bottom lip. A sudden gust of wind lifted up a flurry of snow and flung it at her; she bit back a curse - damn Coerthas and its stupid, out-of-season weather - and pulled a coat from her pack. Best to get indoors. Maybe Haurchefant would have heard something. If the Warrior of Light was involved, that was almost a given. 

It must have been later than she realised for the main hall of the keep was almost deserted. There was one knight at the desk - not Ser Haurchefant - that looked up as Kettle opened the door. "Can I help you?" 

It was a woman's voice. For some reason that was confusing although it shouldn't have been; Kettle knew the garrison had male and female soldiers, both knights and rank and file. 

"I… 'ope so," Kettle faltered. "Is Ser 'Aurchfant not available?" 

"He's gone to Ishgard to dine with his family. And to meet with Ser Aymeric when the Lord Commander returns from Ul'dah." She stood up and peered at Kettle. They were almost of a height, an unusual experience for the Viera. "Is it Mistress Kettle? Lady Elai's friend? You p'raps don't recall me. Name's Yaelle." 

"Yes," Kettle said. "Yes, I remember you. I… " 

"Sit down quick afore you fall down," Yaelle ordered, pushing her into a chair. "Something's amiss, I take it?" 

Kettle bit her lip again. Suppose something had happened to Ser Aymeric as well? "I… I believe so. I don't have any concrete information, however, just that the Sultana of Ul'dah has been… it seems she's been attacked." 

Yaelle's eyes grew very wide. "And Ser Aymeric?" 

"I've no news of the Lord Commander." 

"But they sent you here to warn us, yes? Lord Aymeric has many enemies, even among his own people. _Especially_ amongst his own people." She looked down at the paperwork on the desk. "I'll rouse two troops of guards, won't hurt to have extra bodies on watch just in case. And I'll try and get a message to Lord Haurchefant. Normally he'd stay overnight in Ishgard but I'm guessing we may need him here? 

"I do not know," Kettle replied. She sounded a little peevish and tried to moderate her tone. She hated not knowing what was going on. “Once the others arrive, we should learn more, I ‘ope.”

Before Yaelle could say anything more, the outer door swung open again, bringing another flurry of snow with it. Kit staggered in, carrying Lily; the Lalafel had her face turned into his shoulder and was only recognisable by the tangle of silver-blonde curls tumbling down her back. There was no sign of Archie.

Kettle felt as though her heart stood still. “Is she ... is she …?”

“She’s okay,” Kit replied, manoeuvring around furniture to reach the huge fireplace. “Just cold and shocked.”

“I’m n..n..not sh..shocked,” Lily insisted. “I’m f..f..furious. And s.. ad. But m.. m.. mostly furious. Put me down, Kit. I can w..walk.”

The Miqo’te set her down, and she trundled over to a stool and tugged it towards the fireplace. She was most unsuitably dressed; her festival finery - a flouncy gown of pale blue silk with a great deal of unnecessary ornamentation and matching silk slippers - showed clear signs of wear and tear, and her pale face was tear-stained. But the look in her green eyes was both resolute and relentless.

“I’ll go and send my messages,” Yaelle murmured to Kettle. “And have Medguistl ready some hot drinks.”

Kettle nodded and turned towards Kit.

“What ‘appened?” she mouthed.

Lily folded her arms and looked mutinous. “No need to whisper, I’m not a child. Nanamo’s been murdered. Poisoned, it seems. Teledji Adeledji accused the Warrior of Light of the deed, but he was oozing so much satisfaction, it was bloody clear he was behind it.” Her eyes narrowed, as if she saw something Kettle couldn’t. “I would have attacked him myself if I’d had a weapon with me, if only to wipe the smugness off his fat face, but Raubahn beat me to it.”

“From the rumours in Ul’dah,” Kit murmured. “It appears the Flame General attacked Prince Adeledji and is now under arrest.”

“And Elai?” Kettle asked. “They arrested her also.”

“The Scions fled.” Lily took off her tattered silk slippers and flexed her bare toes at the fire. “They didn’t have a choice, the Crystal Braves had been infiltrated and the Brass Blades were happy to do Adeleji’s bidding. Not even Merlwyb or Kan-E-Senna could intervene. No idea if they escaped or not - the Scions, I mean - but Elai was with them. I wanted to help, but then I saw that traitorous bastard Ilberd looking at me, so I hid in a cupboard and called Kit on the linkpearl.”

“Godric and I got her out of the palace,” Kit said. “It took a while. Godric sent the rest of the company to Limsa, and he’s followed them there so he can talk to Merlwyb. He says there’s no way Merlwyb ’ll believe Elai had anything to do with this.”

“Well of course she did not.” Kettle found it impossible that anyone might believe it. “After all she ‘as done for people? Do we need to go into Ul’dah and get ‘er out?”

“She’ll come here,” Lily replied. 

Kettle frowned. “If she can …”

“Well, yes. If she can. But she knows Haurchefant will shelter her so this is where she’ll head. She won’t want to put Merlwyb or Kan-E-Senna in a difficult position by asking them.”

“They should be falling over themselves to ‘elp ‘er.” Kettle was indignant.

Lily nodded. “Of course. But politics is politics unfortunately.” She bit her lip. “Poor Nanamo. I can’t believe ...well ...I _can_ believe Teledji would do such a thing, he’s always hated Nanamo. But that his plots would actually be successful …” She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes with her fists.

“He’s paid for it,” Kit said. “Rumour says Raubahn slaughtered him. But they’ve arrested Raubahn too by the sound of things. If - when - Elai gets here, hopefully she can tell us more.”

Kettle didn’t like sitting around and waiting. “We should go to Ul’dah and find ‘er.”

“My lord Haurchefant agrees with you, my lady,” said Yaelle, coming back into the hall with a platter full of food and drink. “The Lord Commander threatened to tie him to a chair if he didn't calm himself.” 

"Why would Elai not teleport straight 'ere?" 

"She wouldn't just abandon the Scions," Kit said. "Not to mention, a 'port takes time to cast. I didn't dare risk trying to' port me and Lil 'til we got to the Quicksand. Too many of the Brass Blades know our connection to Elai." 

"So what are we going to do?" Kettle demanded. 

"Wait for her to get here." 

"And if she doesn't?" 

"She will," Yaelle said. "I've seen Lady Elai face down a horde of dragons. She drove Vishap from the Steps of Faith. A few guardsmen won't trouble her." She set her platter down on the desk. "In any case, my lord would never let anything happen to her. He will have her out of Ul'dah if they dare lay hands on her. Whatever it costs him." 

Lily nodded. “Haurchefant would lay his life down for Elai.”

“Let us ‘ope it doesn’t come to that,” Kettle said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of Wish You Were Here. It's been fun to write and great to hear from all of you who've enjoyed it. I'll be picking up with Heavensward in the next part of the World's Too Full of Weeping.
> 
> Yes the last couple of lines were designed to be heart-tuggers, hope they worked

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work is from the song 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd and the chapter headings are from the lyrics; I happened to be listening to it after finishing the ShB MSQ & it seemed fitting!


End file.
